


Villains

by 1MissMolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blackmail, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Use, F/M, Family Dynamics, John Watson is a criminal, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Omega Sherlock, Oral Sex, Sherlock Holmes is Sherlock, Spoilers, Spoilers season one, very slow build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-09-02 17:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 95,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16791823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: Jim Moriarty wishes to destroy the Holmes. He has a plan to bring about their destruction. If only that annoying ex-soldier John Watson would stay out of the way.





	1. Prologe

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to ff_fan for being my beta and help.

It wasn’t a medieval castle built on a craggy finger of land jutting out into a boiling sea, but he still considered it as such. His fortress, his lair. It was the whole floor of a towering office building in the center of London. A glass and steel monolith in the heart of the financial district. The building hadn’t been zoned for flats, but he maintained a luxurious one with views of the river and the Shard. He had wanted a floor in the new Shard but that would have been too ostentatious, as well as drawing far too much attention to himself.

He smooth down the fine Italian wool of his jacket. It was soft and smooth under his neatly manicured fingers. It was his modern day armor. His suit for battle. He adjusted the silk tie he had picked out. It was not bright red but not burgundy either. It was dark red, almost the color of coagulating blood. He thought it would bring out the darkness of his eyes.

He saw his reflection in the tall window. The view of the city laid out at his feet. He smiled. He was ready to bring his vengeance down on those who he felt had wronged him. He was going to be the villain to their fairy tale story.

He left his bedroom and walked with a certain amount of assurance into the outer rooms where his various henchmen were waiting. He glanced over at his right hand man, Sebastian Moran. The disgraced soldier nodded once to his boss as he forced himself not to smile at the smaller man in the exquisite bespoke suit.

“Gentlemen, is everything ready?” Jim Moriarty asked as a greeting.

“Yes, sir.” Several men answered simultaneously.

Moriarty’s eyes flicked over at Moran once more. The blond soldier couldn’t stop himself - he smiled.

“He won’t know what is happening until it’s over and he is standing the ruins of his world.” Moran said.

Moriarty smiled too.

“Then let’s let the games begin.”


	2. The Stage is Set The Curtain Rises

The sun had only been over the horizon for half an hour. It had been a raucous party the night before but now the only sound was the soft snoring of the people in the bed. John Watson’s head was pounding with a hangover. He sat on the edge of the king-size bed, bare chested and unshaven. His shoulders slumped and his hair disheveled. His trouser were pulled up but not yet fastened. He was holding his boot in his hand forcing himself to find the energy to slip it on. The knock on the door didn’t even make him look up.

“Unless you have coffee, bugger off.” John shouted. His hand moved to the pistol under the pillow.

The door open suddenly. Banging against the wall as the tall man with a barrel for a chest stood in the doorway. John’s fingers tightened around the grip of the gun. His hand was moving before he recognized the man. John’s dark blue eyes, although bloodshot, were hard and emotionless as they stared at the intruder.

“That’s a fucking good way to get shot, James.” John said coldly. The gun pointed at the man’s chest.

The auburn hair man walked into the room, smiling. James Sholto had been John’s commanding officer when they had served together in Afghanistan. Both men were decorated and respected but they found it difficult to return to civilian life. James looked over John’s shoulder at the other two people sleeping in the bed behind the blonde. Two omegas, a man and a woman, both still naked.

“There were other alphas here last night who couldn’t get anyone to warm their beds and you had two in yours.” James Sholto laughed. “Three Continents Watson strikes again.”

John’s hand slipped off the gun and returned to his boot. With both hands, John pulled on the leather and yanked the combat boot on over his foot. He grunted as he laced the boot up.

“Is it my fault the men waste their time drinking. I plan accordingly and make sure I have time for other pleasures.” John said as he put his other boot on. James simply laughed.

John glanced around him then saw the corner of his cotton shirt under the leg of the male omega. He slapped the man’s arse and the omega cried out then rolled to the side, quickly falling back asleep. John grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. He stood and hooked his trousers close and fastened his belt. He slipped the gun under the belt at his back. He dragged his fingers through his hair as he walked out of the bedroom.

“Where did you sleep last night?” John asked James.

“I have a favorite. She lives in her own place,” James said.

John Watson paused and looked around the front room of the brothel. Empty bottles of alcohol were littered across the room. There were dirty plates with cold food scattered around. Three men were snoring loudly as they slept spread out across the couches and the floor. Two of the men had prostitutes wrapped tightly in their arms. Everyone was in varying degrees of undressed. John decided to let them sleep. When they woke, their hangovers would be epic.

The party had been the celebration for a successful heist. The robbery of an armored car. John and his team had stolen over two million pounds worth of diamonds and other gem stones. His team would disappear now and keep low for several months. The party would be the last time John would see many of them for several months.

John reached inside his coat and removed an envelope. It was thick and heavy. He handed it to the madam of the brothel as she unlocked the front door. The older beta noticed the thickness of the envelope and smiled.

“Thanks, any time you boys need a place, just call Maggie.”

“Some of my friends are still sleeping, but they will be gone by noon.” John said.

“No worries, I’ll make sure no one bothers them.”

John and James strolled out of the building onto the pavement. They glanced up and down the street then turned north as they blended into the crowds walking.

“Do you think she will complain about the condition of her house?” James asked. John’s celebration party could get quite wild.

“There was enough money in that envelope to pay for any damages. And a large enough tip to keep her mouth shut if the cops come around.”

They walked north until they came to a small café that was serving breakfast. John had become friendly with the older alpha who ran the place. The owner waved and smiled broadly at John then returned to the hob.

John and James returned to London after both men had been medically discharged from the military. They found themselves without employment but with some very specific skill sets.

It started off small. It was supposed to be only one or two jobs. Slowly, the members of John’s old unit in Afghanistan joined them and they became more and more successful. Their scores became larger and larger. The men worked with the same military precision and unit cohesion they shared in war. They really didn’t need the money, and it seemed as if the men were simply doing the jobs for the sheer adrenaline rush.

“So does your favorite expect you to pay her a visit each time you pass through?” John asked as he waved at the waitress.

“She knows better than to make demands of me.” James smiled again fondly remembering the woman.

“Ah, so she is not an omega.” John said as he took a seat.

The red-headed waitress brought over two mugs of coffee and two menus.

“Roberta, we’ll have our regular and some aspirin.” John asked with a smile at the woman.

Roberta was the owner’s shy omega daughter. She was thin and gangly, and couldn’t be more than seventeen. John knew the woman had a crush on him, but he was not the type to take advantage of the naïve omega.

“Sure, ‘Doc’, anything you want.” The young woman blushed as she smiled and dashed off behind the counter.

“What makes you think my favorite isn’t an omega? You think you are the only one who can get a leg over on one?” James asked before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Omegas make demands.”

“You’re the one who was sleeping with two last night. I’m sure you could have thrown at least one out of your bed if you didn’t want them there.”

“They are good for fucking but not really anything else. Too fragile. Too clingy. That’s why I leave before they wake up and expect me to bond with them.” John dropped his voice to a whisper.

Sholto laughed out loud. It was deep and boisterous laugh that drew the attention of the other customers.

“John, you truly have a high opinion of yourself. Maybe they wouldn’t be interested in bonding with the likes of you?”

John tried to act affronted but he couldn’t keep the smile from forming on his face and the twinkle in his eye.

“It’s easy to have a high opinion of yourself when you have omegas throwing themselves at you wherever you go.”

“You have no ambition to find an omega and settle down?” James asked thoughtfully.

“Oh, God no! Never. I’m having too much fun now. The idea of being saddled with an omega is too much. Now, don’t get me wrong . . . I have no problems bedding them and especially during their heats, but to have to deal with their emotional outbursts and childishness . . . I would rather face a full regiment of Taliban than deal with that.”

“John, you are a narrow minded fool. Not all omegas are like that.” James said.

Roberta returned with a small bottle of paracetamol and two of fry-ups. John glanced up at the woman and winked. Without thinking, she returned his smile before dashing off again. John popped the lid on the bottle and shook out two pills. Taking them with another gulp of coffee.

“Every omega I’ve ever met is clingy.” John said quietly. He unwrapped his fork and knife from their folded napkins. He glanced down at his plate and decided to start with the bangers.

“You’ve only been around the omegas from the brothels.”

Sholto’s comment was loud enough that others in the café heard it. The owner looked offended. He grumbled something in Polish and walked back into the kitchen. John glanced over at Roberta and saw the crushed expression on the woman’s face. John shrugged his shoulders but kept eating.

“I’ve known other omegas.” John said as he smeared a piece of toast through the yolk of his egg. He bit into the crust and the yolk ran down his chin. John wiped it away with his fingers, then licked his finger of the yellow liquid.

“Where? The ones who are terrified when they see us when we are doing a job? That’s a great opportunity to get to know a possible mate.”

John looked sideways at Sholto. “Who said anything about a possible mate?”

“John, you can’t expect to live your entire life alone?”

John’s face went emotionless. The warm bright blue eyes went dead.

“I had my moment for something better. It’s over. She is gone.”

James kept his eyes fixed on John’s.

“John, she died years ago. You need to move on. There is so much more life in the world. You don’t need to throw what is left of yours away. Mary wouldn’t want that for you.”

“Mary was my chance at happiness. I’m not expecting to ever find another person who will make me that happy again. I don’t want to find them, because . . .” John closed his eyes to push the memories back again. “Because they will just leave me too.”

James watched his friend as John fought his past. James had known Mary Morstan when she married John Watson. They were still in the army and John was absolutely besotted with the beta. She was a pretty young woman. Hair the color of straw and eyes that were cornflower blue. She was small and petite. And she loved John dearly. When she died, James feared for his friend’s life. He was afraid John would follow her into the grave.

“I’m sorry, John. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” James said softly. “I just want you to be happy again.”

“The topic is moot, James. Now why did you get me out of bed so early this morning?” John said as he smeared the beans around the plate with a piece of sausage stuck to his fork.

“It’s Bill,” James’ voice dropped lower.

John looked up concerned. Bill Murry had been with them in Afghanistan. He had saved John’s life after he was shot. Dragging the young captain to safety and stopping the bleeding until John could be moved to the combat hospital. Bill hadn’t joined James and John in their criminal activities but he had remained friends with the two men.

“What is it?”

“His step son, Jimmy Phillimore. He was found dead.” James said.

“Where? How?” John leaned forward.

“He was going out with his buddy and they got separated. Jimmy was going back for an umbrella and his friend never saw him again. He was found dead at a sport’s arena. Somewhere where he shouldn’t have been. The coppers are calling it suicide but Bill said that’s impossible.” James finished his story and took another sip of coffee. He lifted his cup requesting a refill.

John pushed his meal away from himself. The owner came over to refill both mugs. He glared at Sholto.

“Is there any reason to believe it is suicide?” John asked.

“The kid was accepted to the university he wanted to study at. He was getting good grades. He wasn’t into drugs or alcohol. No problems at school. He didn’t have a girlfriend but that didn’t seem to bother him. He was going out with his friend and everything was looking good for the kid. And the poison he was killed with . . . neither Bill nor the police know how he got hold of it.” James said.

“What does Bill want us to do?” John asked.

“Find out who killed his step son.”

“And?”

“And . . . he didn’t make any requests after that. I guess part of him would like us to turn him over to the cops but another part of him would like us to take him fishing in the Thames.”

“As bait?” John asked.

James didn’t answer but it was a simple understanding Bill Murray wanted revenge against the man who killed his son. 

“Who is handling the investigation at Scotland Yard?” John asked.

“Lestrade. It’s not his department but there have been two other suicides that fit this profile.”

“Kids?” John wondered if there had been some kind of agreement between the teenagers.

“No, a woman in her thirties . . . worked as a book agent. She died after leaving a birthday party thrown for her. And a Lord. Late forties. Same drug. Each one found in places they shouldn’t have had access to and no hint of depression or suicide prior to finding them dead.” James said.

“Serial suicides?” John looked confused. “No connection between the three individuals?”

“None.”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be. It’s almost like there is a serial killer trying to make everyone think it is suicide. But . . .” John trailed off.

“But what?”

John tipped his head to the side for moment. “Serial killers have preferences. Their victims have some kind of connection. Either similar looking or work in the same field or go to the same school, but a thirty year old woman, a forty year old man and a teenager? What’s the connection?”

“They are all dead.”

~^+^~

Sherlock stood gleefully in middle of a pile of boxes. He spun around looking at the miss-match pieces of furniture and odd collections of bric-a-brac that cluttered the flat surfaces. He was filled with a sense of independence and excitement he had never felt before.

_‘This was his.’_ He thought. Maybe not his alone, but still his. His first flat he was allowed to have since moving out his parent’s home. The first time he was allowed to live away from the interference of a familiar alpha. It felt wonderful.

Sherlock went to one of the boxes and flung the lid off, tossing the cardboard towards the door. He grabbed a handful of books and set them on the built-in bookshelves. He grabbed another handful of books when he heard the sound of someone clearing his throat.

A sudden disagreeable chill ran up Sherlock’s spine. He didn’t need to turn around to see who the intruder was. He could smell the expensive aftershave and underneath, the scent of alpha. The light tapping of an umbrella tip on the floor was distinctive and telling. Mycroft was perturbed.

“You are not welcome. I’m sure there is a coup or a government needing over throwing somewhere to entertain you.” Sherlock said arranging the books on the shelf.

“Yes, I am needed elsewhere. That is why I would like to you to listen to what I need to say and not argue with me.” Mycroft droned from the open doorway. “Sherlock, this is foolish.”

“Yes, I find you are foolish, now leave.” Sherlock refused to look at his older alpha brother.

“Sherlock, even though Mummy agreed to this . . . experiment, you must acknowledge this is foolish. Cooler heads need to prevail. Mummy is all in favor of omega independence but it is only a phase. Next month it will be something else.” Mycroft said as he rolled his eyes.

“You prefer omega oppression, servitude!” Sherlock wheeled towards his brother, glaring.

“Let’s not be dramatic. No one will be putting you into chains. But wiser men have decided that omegas need to be guided and protected.”

“Alphas have decided that one fourth of the population can’t think for themselves regardless of evidence to the contrary.” Sherlock snapped back.

“Sherlock! That is enough. I have agreed to allow you the latitude to have a flat and to live on your own.” Mycroft glanced around the shabby flat. “Why you would choose to live here instead of with your family is quite beyond me, but I have agreed, with the stipulation that you have a responsible flat-mate. Victor Trevor is not responsible.”

“We have been friends for years. Mummy agreed. You do not get a vote in this.” Sherlock grabbed another box and walked down the short hallway to his future bedroom.

Mycroft followed him. His eyes scanning with aversion to the room around him. He stepped through the open door and into the bedroom. Sherlock was pinning a periodic table up on the wall.

“Victor Trevor will be bonded in less than four months according to his sister, Lavidia.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock turned and glared at his brother. “Trevor said he has turned the alpha down. He refuses to bond with him.”

“Lavidia has informed me that the bonding will take place before Christmas.”

Sherlock tried to ignore his brother. He unpacked a wooden box and held it in his hands for a moment, seeming surprised he was holding it. Sherlock tried to hide it from his brother. Sherlock dropped to his knees and climbed under his bed.

“Please do not tell me that you have replaced the box with the carving of a dragon on the lid with another.” Mycroft said exasperated. Sherlock remained silent. “There is really very little good in you trying to hide anything from me, Sherlock. You know you are unable to keep secrets from me.”

“Leave, Mycroft.” Came a disembodied voice from under the bed.

“Sherlock, quit being so juvenile and get up from there.”

Sherlock’s face poked out from under the oak footboard. His dark curls dusty with grey lint. “There is nothing you can say that will make me return to your house.”

“Sherlock, you are ill prepared for the demands of independence. It is simply unwise . . .” Mycroft was cut off by his brother.

“I am not a damsel in distress, Mycroft! And besides, that stereotype never existed except in the narrow minded, misogynistic Victorians, which you, apparently, are one.”

Mycroft Holmes rolled his eyes. He was needed at Whitehall. He couldn’t be wasting his valuable time here arguing with his brother.

“Sherlock, when Trevor bonds in four months, you will need to find another flat-mate or return to my home. As it is, Mummy and I are busy looking for an appropriate mate for you. This little excursion of yours into . . . independence will be at an end. It would be better for everyone, especially you, if you would simply give this up and return home with me, now.”

Sherlock said nothing. He continued to rummage around underneath the bed. Mycroft sighed dramatically. He turned and left the bedroom.

The omega climbed out from under his bed, dusting off his dark suit jacket. He frowned as he combed his fingers through this hair, dislodging a dust bunny. He hated he had made the agreement with Mycroft regarding a flat-mate, but he didn’t have a choice. He knew Trevor was to be bonded in four months, but many things could happen in four months. He might even be able to prove to everyone that he could live on his own without an alpha.


	3. The Spider and the Troll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty starts to gather his conspirators.

Jim Moriarty’s leather sole shoes made no sound as he walked down the hallway. The industrial grade carpeting was a dark royal blue. The color reflected up onto the hallway walls giving the white paint a cool tone. This hospital wing was brand new but it still had the smell of disinfectant and illness. Jim glanced to the left and right. The hospital rooms were empty. There was no one else on the floor other than the patient in the room situated in the middle of the hallway. He wondered if Victoria Savage considered herself fortunate to be placed on this exclusive floor. Moriarty smiled at that thought that these hospital rooms are not for the average NHS patient but for those with special qualification. Not only wealthy enough but expedience in dying.

The patient’s room door was supposed to be locked, but Moriarty had made sure he would be able to enter the room. He didn’t knock. He hesitated, listening through the closed door. Making sure the voice he heard belonged to whom he wanted to see. The nasal tone was distinctive. He quickly turned the handle and walked in.

The small round faced man stood next to the bed. His mouth was open and pulled into a frightened gasped. His sad blue eyes were wide and panicky.

Moriarty studied the man for a moment. The man was small in stature. No taller than postbox. He had slight oval head with a broad forehead leading upward to a receding hairline. His thinning blond hair was mussed from the man dragging his fingers though its short course strands. He was clean shaven but his pasty skin had red splotches from both fear and excitement. The man wore a tailored white silk shirt, but he had rolled up his sleeves. His dark red braces trapped the white shirt to his sweaty, pudgy, short body. Moriarty thought the man looked more like a troll than a financial tycoon. More of a joke than a serial killer.

“Who are you?! You’re not supposed to be here! Get out! GET OUT!” The troll sputtered.

“Don’t mind me. Please . . . proceed.” Moriarty purred. He waved his hand over the elderly woman laying in the hospital bed.

The troll took a step back from the bed. The woman sputtered and raised a pleading hand up towards Moriarty.

“Please . . . help me!” She croaked.

“Mrs. Savage is confused. She was calling out and I came to see if I could help her.” The troll blurted out.

“You came in here to murder her.” Moriarty said calmly. “Please, don’t let me interrupt you.”

“WHAT!!?” The troll gasped.

“Culverton Smith, I know exactly who you are and what you have been doing. And although I don’t know Victoria Salvage personally, I have no problems what so ever in you murdering her like you did the other seven people you killed.” Moriarty slipped his hands into his pockets. “Please, I would like to watch you do it.”

“I . . . I don’t know what you are talking about . . .”

Victoria Salvage glanced back and forth between the two men. The young man she thought was going to be her rescuer appeared to be just as insane as the man standing over her.

“Please no . . .” she moaned.

“Must I list the names of the other people you have admitted to this floor only for them to die by your hand?”

“People die all the time in hospitals.” Culverton Smith mumbled.

“Yes, especially if you hold a pillow over their faces.” Moriarty said. “Better to do it that way instead of using your hands. You won’t leave marks that way.”

“Marks?” The troll seemed confused.

“Yes, how do you think I became aware of your little game? I saw the marks on two of your victims. Then I started watching you. I learned you paid for this floor to be built and hired the architect and builders yourself. Built your own little ‘Murder Palace’ like Henry Howard Holmes. Very industrious of you.” Moriarty smiled at the troll. “Now pop that pillow over the crone’s face and let’s get on with it. I have a proposition to discuss with you.”

Culverton Smith looked like he was going to argue again with Moriarty. The taller man sighed and stepped over to the bed. He yanked the pillow out from under the old woman’s head. She gasped and groaned.

“No . . . please . . .”

Moriarty handed the pillow to Culverton and raised his eyebrow questioningly. Smith hesitated then took the pillow from Moriarty’s hand. He pressed it down over the older woman’s face. She gasped as her hands flayed. Her body thrashed for several minutes before quietly falling still. Culverton Smith slowly lifted the pillow from the woman’s face and both men looked down.

Moriarty never understood why someone would say a dead person looked like they were sleeping. Dead bodies never looked like they were sleeping. They looked dead. The watery grey eyes of Victoria Salvage were partially open. The pupils were dilated, but the eyes were blank. Her expression was slack, as her wrinkled skin sagged. Her mouth was slightly open. The yellow line of aged teeth peeked out from behind thin grey lips. Whatever it was that had made her human - made her Victoria, was gone. A shell was left behind. An empty dried up husk.

Moriarty glanced over at the troll. Culverton Smith was panting. His face was flushed and his eyes didn’t appear focused. A delicate gloss of sweat highlighted his broad forehead. He shivered slightly. It was almost as if he had climaxed. Murder was never that important to Moriarty. It was just something he needed to do. Something to tick off the list of things to do, but Culverton Smith seemed to get a physical pleasure from killing another human being.

“Interesting.” Moriarty hummed.

Smith seemed to come back to himself and realized the other man was still standing there.

“You didn’t try to stop me.” Smith said looking quizzically at Moriarty.

“No, why would I? Now on to more important things.”

Smith straightened his shoulders and wiped his brow. Moriarty still thought Smith looked like a troll.

“You said something about a proposal?”

“Yes. Are you familiar with a family named Holmes?” Moriarty smiled.


	4. Study in Pink, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retelling of a Study in Pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. Out decorating a Christmas tree.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” Sholto said over the phone.

“Are you sure?” John asked. His phone pressed against the side of his head as he glanced up and down the street looking for the taxi. John saw one and waved his hand.

“Yeah, my man at Scotland Yard said that Lestrade has been called out for another of his ‘serial suicides’. His team has been dispatched to the scene. I’ll text you the address.”

“I doubt the cops are going to tell me who did it?” A taxi pulled over and John got into the back seat. “Brixton.” He said to the driver.

“Well, probably not but I’m sure you can use that ‘Watson’ charm to get one of them to talk to you.” Sholto’s laughter seemed forced.

“Yeah, right. Talk to you later.” John said as he disconnected the call. He looked down at the address James’ had sent him and gave it to the driver.

The taxi pulled over some distance from the crime scene. The dark street had been cordoned off with the blue and white police tape. It had rained earlier in the evening and the red and blue lights from several panda cars reflected back. The stark glare drained the color from the faces of small crowd of gawkers lined up to watch. John slipped into the crowd and watched as investigators in blue coveralls walked in and out of the abandoned building.

John’s eyes followed the various member of the investigation when he noticed a tall man in a dark coat approach the police tape. The man was unusual looking with dark hair and pale skin. Sharp angles to his face and his almond shaped eyes were set unnaturally far apart. He should have been unattractive but somehow the disagreeable individual parts combined to make an extraordinarily attractive male.

The man walked forward with certainty and confidence to a female police officer. From the distance, John couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was obvious the woman didn’t like the dark haired stranger. She tried and failed to block his entrance into the scene. John watched the man walk under the tape only to be accosted by another officer at the door. Again there was animosity between the stranger and the new officer. But the stranger must have said something very provocative because both the male and female police officers were suddenly excited and shouting at each other while the stranger entered the dilapidated building.

John shifted on his feet. He wanted to get closer but he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. He watched as the police questioned several civilians standing near the front door of the building. John felt it was time to try and convince someone to help him. He saw a young policeman, maybe in his late twenties, standing off by himself. The young man was left alone to guard the entrance to an alley. He looked bored and easily distracted. John rounded his shoulders and relaxed his body. He walked over with a relaxed gate that was anything but intimidating. He stepped up to the young policeman and gave him one of his most disarming smiles. The beta officer looked suspiciously at John but didn’t seemed threatened.

“What’s going on? A drugs bust or something?” John asked. He kept his eyes wide and questioning while he acted as harmless as he could. An expression of open friendliness on his face.

The beta police officer glanced around to see if his superior was watching. He stood a good six inches taller than John. He was thin with only minor muscle development. He looked incredibly young and for brief moment, John wondered if the young beta had even begun shaving yet. 

“No, it’s a suicide. Some woman killed herself inside.” The younger man said trying to sound autocratic and in charge.

“Oh, wow. Really? Shot herself? You must be something special to have to deal with that. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to see that. Did you get special training to deal with all the gross stuff?” John asked wide-eyed. He carried on with the subterfuge in hopes that Sholto hadn’t sent him to the wrong scene.

“No, just a regular officer.” The young officer puffed up as John praised him. “And it wasn’t bad, she poisoned herself.”

John felt a surge of adrenaline. _‘Just like Murry’s step son.’_ John thought. He knew he was on the trail of the murderer now. He rocked forward and closer to the young policeman.

“She been dead long?” John asked.

“At least a couple of hours.” The young officer was more than willing to talk to the older alpha who kept flattering him. “The detectives don’t know much right now.”

“Well, they should let you do more. I’m sure you could figure it out quickly.” John winked at the young man. Inside, John growled. If this idiot had been in his unit, he would have beaten the crap out of him for letting so much slip. _‘Definitely, not properly trained’_ , John thought.

The young man beamed.

Just then John noticed the dark haired man from earlier, run out of the building. He was shouting something about ‘ _Pink’_ as he ran down the street. His dark coat billowing out behind him.

“Who’s that?” John asked.

“Just some consultant. Nobody really.”

Instinct told John to follow the stranger. He watched the dark haired man turn down the street. John twisted away from the idiot officer and walked quickly down the alley. John was going to cut him off.

He followed the man as he ran between the buildings. He watched as the stranger jumped up and grabbed the bottom rung of a fire-escape ladder. The clanging of the metal ladder was loud and John glanced around to see if anyone else heard it. The dark haired man scurried up the ladder and onto the roof before John could follow him. The ladder quickly slipped back up and out of John’s reach.

John caught a glimpse of the man on the top of the building. The grey orb of the moon back lit him. A basic mistake for a soldier to make; to be exposed and visible in the moonlight. But even though it was against everything John had be taught, he stopped and stare at the man. His long thin body tentatively revealed by the wind spreading his coat out and away from him. His black curls blending into the inky dark sky. His pale skin cast even paler by the moonlight. He was remarkable looking. Almost gothic in his beauty.

As he watched the stranger, John heard a scrap of a boot. He pushed himself into the shadows as his hand moved his back. His finger slipped around the grip of his handgun. The cool composite nestled perfectly in his palm. A short distance away he heard the kick of a bottle across pavement and the howl of a cat. John’s eyes scanned the shadows and waited as his training taught him. He knew someone else had been watching the stranger. He could feel it. And he was just as certain that whoever was in that alley with him, felt John’s presences too.

John waited. He heard the dark haired stranger move. The sound of running feet forty-five feet above him. John didn’t move. He heard a grunt, like someone jumping from one rooftop to another. John remained still.

A shadow shifted down the alley. A bulky figure stepped away from a doorway and dashed down the street. John followed, his gun out. John moved swiftly down the ally, keeping close to the walls. He only stepped out of the shadows and into the middle of the road when obstacles forced him to. He watched as the other man moved slowly down the street, constantly gazing up and following the man on the rooftops.

John paused behind a skip, peaking around the corner, when a large black demon dropped into the skip next to him. John’s heart about leapt out of his chest. He jumped back as he twisted and pointed the Browning at the man frantically tossing rubbish out of the skip. To John’s surprise it was the unusual dark haired stranger he had been following. The man seemed to be searching for something within the refuse.

John glanced down the alley and the other man he had been following was gone. He wondered if he should chase after him when the stranger in the skip shouted out.

“Ah-ha!”

John looked up to see the stranger holding a bright pink roller bag. A small overnight bag that looked expensive. The stranger carefully lifted the bag over the other refuse and debris as he struggled to climb out of the skip. John slipped the Browning back into its holster.

“Here, let me help you. Give me your hand.” John said calmly even though his heart was still pounding in his chest. .

The man in the skip hesitated as he stared at John standing there. He seemed surprised to see someone else in the alley.

“Who are you?” The stranger asked.

“The guy who is trying to get you out of the rubbish. Now give me that suitcase and then your hand.”

The stranger in the skip pulled the suitcase back, wrapping his arms around it protectively. He tipped his head back to look down at John.

“Why do you want the suitcase?” He asked.

“I don’t. I’m wanting to get you out of there and it will be easier if you’re not holding it.” John said. Then he rolled his eyes and growled. “I promise I won’t steal it. Hand it here so I can get you out of there.”

The man hesitated then did as John told him. He handed the suitcase to John, then held out his hand for assistance. John’s hand wrapped tightly around the other man’s cold hand. He braced his feet and pulled the other man out of the skip.

The taller man came crashing down into John’s body with a grunt. John instinctively wrapped his arm around the man’s waist to steady them, so they wouldn’t fall. He pulled the taller man to his chest and took the other man’s weight onto his own braced feet.

“Easy now.”

John held him for a second. He loosened his grip on the man’s waist then tightened it just as quickly. The slightly sweet tint of omega clung to the younger man and surrounded John quickly.

“You’re an omega!”

“Of course I am. How very idiotically observant of you.” The man tried to take a step back but John didn’t release him. John smiled wolfishly. The previous concerns of the other stranger rapidly disappearing. “If you are planning something nefarious, I should warn you, I am highly skilled at baritsu.”

“What?” John blinked his eyes and licked his lips. Stunned by the comment, John still held the young man in his arms.

“Baritsu. An eclectic combination of the elements of boxing, fencing, jujitsu and kickboxing. Developed in England between 1898 and 1902.”

“What?!”

The dark haired stranger tipped his head back and looked carefully down at John.

“Did you suffer a head injury during your deployment?”

“My deployment? No . . . fencing? Does that really come in handy in twenty-first century England?”

John, surprised to realize he was still embracing the younger man, let go of him and took a step back. The man dusted himself off then grabbed the suitcase back from John.

“More often than you would think. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock what?” John felt like he was listening through quicksand to the strange omega.

“Sherlock Holmes. My name.”

“Oh yes, ah . . . John Watson. Hey, how did you know I was in the army?”

“I saw you skulking down the alley. You were careful to identify any positions in which you could be shot from. You held your gun like a professional and not like a common criminal. And your bearing is that of a soldier and not a policeman. I thought you were still pursuing the other alpha. I didn’t realize you were beside the skip. Now Mister Watson . . . “

“Doctor.” John said calmly. He didn’t know why it was important but he felt he needed to use his professional title with this man.

Sherlock Holmes raised an eyebrow while looking at John. “Really? Interesting. Doctor Watson, I need to find a serial killer. Good night.” He turned to leave. Striding quickly down the alley. John had to rush to fall into step with the longer legged man.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” John said.

“Why, because I’m an omega?” Sherlock asked snidely.

“No,” John snapped back. “Like you said, there was someone else in the alley. He was following you.”

“He has obviously left, whomever he was. He realized you were following him and whatever criminal activity he was planning would be witnesses. He fled believing you were the police.” Sherlock said as he walked out onto the major street. Glancing up and down the street, Sherlock flagged down a taxi.

“Whomever he was? He probably knew you were an omega. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone. Let me take you home.” John said as he pushed himself into the taxi following Sherlock.

“I’m not going home with you!” Sherlock snapped.

“I meant I would take you home to your family. Your alpha.”

“I don’t have an alpha.” Sherlock said calmly as he glanced down at the suitcase, studying the locks.

“You don’t!? How old are you?”

Sherlock stiffened. He sat up straight and glared at John.

“Although it is none of your business, twenty-five. And no I’m not bonded nor do I wish to be burdened with a thick-skulled low intelligent Neolithic alpha, thank you very much.” Sherlock glared at John.

“Speaking as an alpha, we are all relieved to know that.” John glared back.

“Where to, gov?” barked the driver.

“Royal Hill, Greenwich.” John told the driver.

“No!” Sherlock quickly said. “221 Baker Street, Regent’s Park.”

The driver turned around and looked at John. The two men stared at each other for a moment then John sighed. “Baker Street.” Then he turned to Sherlock. “I want to speak to your alpha.”

“I told you I don’t have one.”

“You have a pack alpha don’t you?”

Sherlock refused to answer John. Of course he had a pack alpha, but there was no way he was going to tell anyone he was related to Mycroft. And if Mycroft discovered that Sherlock was riding around in taxis in the middle of the night with strange alphas who carried guns, Mycroft would surely revoke Sherlock’s privileges to live with Trevor.

~^+^~

John stood in the middle of the first floor flat of 221 Baker Street. It was a cross between science lab and hoarder’s lair. The furniture was worn but comfortable looking. The books on the shelves varied in subject from toxic plants to ballistics. The room smelled of coffee and tobacco but also of something sweet and warm. Like apple pies baking. Cinnamon and brown sugar. It was a smell that John could get easily used to if he would allow himself.

“You live alone?” John asked.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, studying the locks on the pink suitcase. He glanced up at John through his dark fringe. His raven curls messily tossed from his leap into the skip.

“No,” Sherlock said simply. He carefully looked the soldier over. “My roommate is out for the moment but he will be back soon.”

Sherlock had no idea when Trevor would return and he couldn’t care less, but for safety sake, he decided to lie.

“I don’t scent an alpha.” John said as he wandered around the sitting room, glancing at the various objects. “That’s a human skull.”

“Yes, a friend of mine.” Sherlock said. Then he noticed that the expression on John Watson’s face wasn’t the normal repulsion Sherlock was used to but actual curiosity. “Well, I say friend . . . we weren’t close.”

“I would hope not. And the alpha?”

“I told you I don’t have one. I don’t need one.” Sherlock returned to the suitcase locks. It clicked open and Sherlock quickly unzipped the suitcase.

“What’s so special about that suitcase? Is it yours?” John asked as he sat down next to Sherlock. He purposely sat close enough that his thigh was brushing up against the omega’s. The omega seemed peculiar and strange but he was also quite attractive and John was always willing to overlook a few oddities for a good shag.

“Belongs to a murder victim.”

“Murder victim? Shouldn’t you be taking that to the police?” John would offer to take it himself but he felt it would be better if he kept a low profile with law enforcement right now.

Sherlock ignored John’s questions and dug through the clothes in the suitcase. John noticed they belonged to a woman. Sherlock found a small zippered bag in the suitcase. A quick inspection of the bag showed it was makeup and toiletries. He pushed his hands under the clothing and felt along the sides and bottom of the overnight bag. Not finding anything, Sherlock sighed and leaned back.

“You were at the scene.” Sherlock turned and looked at John.

“How did you know . . . what you saw me there?”

“No. Most people feign repulsion at the idea of murder. You did not. You’re not surprised to know there was a murder tonight. Also, you are not surprised by the contents of the suitcase, therefore you knew that the victim was a female.”

Sherlock leaned back for moment then quickly stood up. He started to pace around the room. John watched the unusual omega. With his heavy black coat off, John could better see the younger man’s build.

Sherlock was tall for an omega. Six inches taller than John. His dark curls appeared soft and his skin was blemish free and smooth looking. Sherlock had a slim build. Not the normal curves and rounded portions of an omega. He didn’t look like he had enough extra body mass to get pregnant let alone carry a pup to term.

John knew Sherlock wasn’t his type at all. John liked blonds with soft curves and round hips. He liked omegas who were petite and demur. Neither words would describe Sherlock. But there was something about this strange omega that had John’s interest. He couldn’t explain it.

John liked blue eyes and Sherlock’s eyes were a shade of blue but instead of a nice royal blue, Sherlock’s eyes were more like the pale blue of burnished silver. There were also flecks of gold and green in those limitless eyes. They were eyes that John felt drawn to, unable to resist the pull of the endless depths.

“I need your phone.”

John was yanked out of his musings by Sherlock’s request

“What?” John blinked at Sherlock.

“I need to send a message.”

“Why not use your own phone?” John asked.

“Someone might recognize the number. I need you to text a message.” Sherlock flopped down into the leather and chrome armchair. “0724 284 230. These words exactly . . .”

“Hold on.” John snapped as he fumbled to get his phone out. He quickly tapped in the number Sherlock had given him and then waited for the man to speak.

“What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come.”

John typed in the message then pressed send. “Whose number was that?” he asked, looking back over at Sherlock.

“Jenifer Wilson’s. The victim.”

“The murder victim?”

“Yes.”

John looked down at his phone. If the police saw that text they could trace it back to his phone. He could be pulled into this murder despite his attempts to avoid the police.

“Why am I texting a dead woman?” John asked wondering if the omega was purposefully trying to get John tangled up with the cops.

“Her phone is missing. It wasn’t with her body and it is not in her suitcase.”

John glanced at Sherlock and then the open suitcase. “Wait a moment. Who did I just text?”

“Well, that’s the question. If she didn’t have her phone, who does?” Sherlock leaned forward and smiled.

Suddenly, John’s mobile rang in his hand. He almost dropped it. He looked down at the ringing phone then back up at Sherlock.

“The number is blocked. Who is that? Is that the murderer?” John asked. Was it the man he was looking for that just called him?

“If anyone else found that phone they would have ignored that text. But the murderer would panic.”

Sherlock leaped to his feet and grabbed his heavy black coat.

“Where are you going?” John stood up still clutching his phone in his hand.

“Twenty-two Northumberland Street.” Sherlock said causally.

John stepped closer and into Sherlock’s personal space. “No, you are not. You’re not going out alone to meet a murderer.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course not. You’re coming.”

John wanted to slap the arrogant omega. _‘How stupid could this man be? Was he insane, thinking it was perfectly normal to chase after a killer with a complete stranger?’_ John thought.

“No, I am not. You’re not going after a murderer and I’m not going to tag along with you. I’m going to the police.” John lied.

“The police?! Four people are dead! There’s no time for the police!” Sherlock nearly shouted. He quickly wrapped his scarf around his neck. “There’s a good Italian restaurant across the street. We’ll have an excellent view of the building.”

“I said no!” John’s voice shifted into is commanding officer’s voice, deep and gruff. He glared at the taller man with unblinking authority.

For a moment, John could see the omega wavier. Almost submit. Then he watched as Sherlock regained himself. It was amazing to John. He had never seen an omega able to withstand his dominance before. Sherlock’s expression turned neutral as he held John’s glare. John could tell the omega was thinking. It was almost as if he could see a million calculations taking place behind those variegated eyes.

“You wish for me to wait here?” Sherlock asked barely able to keep the condescending tone from his words.

“Yes.” John growled.

Sherlock tipped back further away from John. The alpha felt a sudden warmth as the strange omega seemed to submit to him.

“You insist on notifying the police?”

“Of course.”

“You will not allow me to go and follow up this lead?”

“Never.” John struggled to not smile as he thought he had won the battle of the wills.

Sherlock stood still for a moment studying John’s face. Then he simply shrugged and stepped away from John. Returning to the chair he had sat in earlier, Sherlock flopped down, crossing his long legs. He still wore his coat and scarf.

“Then you should hurry. The sooner you go the police the sooner we will be able to go to Northumberland Street and capture this killer.” Sherlock said with a dismissive tone.

“You’ll wait here for me – for us? Me and the police?”

“As you wish.” Sherlock said, not returning John’s look.

John sighed and smiled. “Thank you. I won’t be long.”

John wanted to say something else but he didn’t. There was no way John was going to the police. He would track down this killer himself and deal with the man who had killed his friend’s son. After tonight, he knew he would never see this strange omega again. And that was a good thing. John should be hiding right now. Avoiding anything that had to do with the police. He shouldn’t be mixed up in a criminal investigation, drawing attention to himself.

John decide before he said anything else and get further in trouble, he should leave. As his footsteps bounced off the worn wooden steps and grass wallpaper of the stairs, John wondered if he would ever see the unusual omega again. He doubted it and thought it was probably for the best. No good could ever come from being around such an extraordinary man.


	5. Study in Pink part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second half of Study in Pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course the best dialog in these chapters were written by Gatiss and Moffat.

John found the perfect spot for surveillance of 22 Northumberland Street. He could see the building itself and also the three streets converging on this point. It was the alley next door to the Italian restaurant, ‘Angelo’s’. The only disadvantage was he had to stand next to the bins for the restaurant and the smell of discarded food was nauseating.

The rain from earlier in the evening had stopped and the streets were filling with the youthful crowds that frequented this portion of London. The traffic had picked up and music was now floating out of various buildings up and down the street. There was the sound of conversation and laughter in the air. The city was coming alive again. London was one of the few cities that John had ever been in that seemed to have a pulse of its own. A life and breath. A heartbeat.

John scanned the street again as he watched cars and pedestrians come and go but no one was stopping in front of 22 Northumberland Street. The area in front of the building was empty. No one walking in front of the stone façade glance up at it. No one seemed to be watching it, no one other than John.

John cupped his hands and blew into them. He really wasn’t cold, but the movement was more instinctual. Preparing himself for combat. His body appeared relaxed as he leaned against the damp bricks, but in actuality, his muscles were tight, ready to spring into action. His shoulders were slightly hunched forward and his thigh muscles were tense. The weight of the gun at the small of his back, comforting. John’s eyes scanned the crowds again, looking at faces. Seeing who was glancing sideways deceptively, who was checking out the crowds besides himself. Which faces had he seen before. Just as he used to look into the faces of Afghan nationals watching for that one person who glanced a bit too long at him, or who tried to duck their face to hide it from the soldiers, the one who had an AK47 hidden under their cloak.

John was so busy watching the crowd, he missed the taxi that had pulled up in front of 22 Northumberland. It had been parked there for at least a minute before John saw it. He noticed the passenger in the backseat turn around for a second and look right at him. The male passenger was tan and seemed to looking for something. He turned around and the taxi started to drive off.

John started to move. He took two strides to get out of the alley when he nearly crashed into a man in black coat. John caught himself before he fell. He knew instantly it was Sherlock Holmes. The omega had deceived him and come anyway. John growled in anger. _How dare the omega defy him?_ He reached out to grab Sherlock’s arm, but the omega slipped out of his grasp and slid over the bonnet of a car as he chased after the taxi.

“Hurry up, John!” Sherlock shouted. He seemed unsurprised by John’s presence. John hesitate for a moment, then fell into step with the omega.

Sherlock crashed through a door and into a darken building. John chased after the omega as he raced up a set of stairs to the roof. The omega ran across the rooftops and over skylights. John doggedly ran behind him. They dodged chimney stacks and antennae. Suddenly, Sherlock leaped over the gap between the buildings. John skidded to a stop and looked down. The drop to the pavement below was more than five stories.

“Hurry, John . . . he’s getting away!” Sherlock shouted as he continued to chase the taxi.

_‘Insane! Insane! Insane!’_ rattled though John’s mind as he backed up and ran forward. Jumping over the space between the two buildings, John’s heart began to beat enthusiastically in his chest. Just like it had in Afghanistan. Just like it had when he had blown the doors off the armored truck and seen the black boxes full of gemstones.

John landed firmly on the opposite side and kept running. He followed the omega down a metal staircase and back to the street. Instead of chasing after Sherlock, John started running with him as they pursued the taxi. They ran down alleys and across streets until they caught up with the taxi at an intersection in Soho. Sherlock grabbed the door and opened it. He looked at the passenger.

“Wrong man!” Sherlock growled. “Tourist.”

“What?” John gasped for breath. He hadn’t run that hard since leaving the Helmand district.

“LAX? Just arrived from Los Angeles.” Sherlock looked at the tags on the passenger’s luggage.

“Tourist . . . just arrived . . . couldn’t be our man.” John said.

“Is there a problem?” The passenger asked in the sharp that accent of a west coaster.

“No. Scotland Yard.” Sherlock said as he held up an identification warrant. “Welcome to London.”

Sherlock quickly closed the door and started to walk away. Confused and exhausted, John followed him down the block, then started to giggle. Sherlock paused and looked at the laughing alpha.

“What?”

“Welcome to London?” John smiled at Sherlock.

Perplexed by John’s laughter, Sherlock remembered it was what he had said to the American after he had almost ripped him from the backseat of the taxi. He too started to laugh. For a brief moment, the alpha and omega stood laughing in comradery at the whole absurd situation. Then they noticed the real police officer walking towards them.

“You ready?” Sherlock asked.

“Always.” John answered.

And together, they took off running.

~^+^~

The two men stumbled into the entrance of 221 Baker Street. Still laughing from the adventure of the evening. They collapsed back against the wall catching their breaths between the exertion and the laughter.

“That was the craziest thing I’ve done.” John hummed to himself.

“So says the man who invaded Afghanistan.”

“Well, I wasn’t alone with a mad man.” John chuckles back.

The two leaned back as they slowly calmed down. John glanced over at the taller man. Sherlock’s face was flushed from the running and cool night air. His hair, normally a disarray of curls, was now exaggeratedly tossed. A single dark curl hangs low over Sherlock’s quizzical eyebrows. His lips were parted as he breathed deeply.

_‘He’s stunning.’_ John thought to himself.

John rolled his shoulders off the wall and twisted himself closer to Sherlock. Without hesitation he leaned in and lightly kissed the omega’s pouty lips. Sherlock’s lips were cool to the touch, and slightly chapped. They were sweet tasting – like brown sugar and cinnamon. Slowly, John pulled back. His eyes fixed on Sherlock’s, waiting to see what the unusual omega would do next.

John expected the man to complain or feign embarrassment like any other omega. Sherlock stared at John for a moment then reached up and cupped John’s face in his palm. The tall omega took a step forward and pushed his body into John’s. Pinning the alpha to the wall, as Sherlock’s mouth crashed down onto John’s.

The kisses were messy and uncoordinated. Not what John expected but enjoyable all the same. It was as if kissing was something foreign and new to the omega. John growled at the thought he was the first to kiss the man. The first to taste the omega’s mouth.

John’s hands wrapped around the lithe waist and slowly up the man’s back. His fingertips feeling every vertebrae as they climbed up. John pulled Sherlock closer into his own body. Pleased when he felt a growing bulge in the omega’s tailored trousers.

The omega’s scent warmed and grew. The sweetness of apples and spice. Mouthwatering and delicious.

Sherlock’s hands held John’s face as the alpha’s hands roamed over the omega’s body. John widened his stance and pulled Sherlock tighter into himself. The kiss ended and Sherlock pulled back far enough to focus on John’s eyes.

“Why do you have to be so tall?” John whispered as a smile broke across his face.

“I could kneel if you prefer.”

A rumbling groan broke free from John’s chest and he started to pull the tall man back down to him.

Neither man noticed the door open behind them or the frightened woman emerge from the ground floor flat.

“Oh, Sherlock . . . what have you done this time?” The grey haired woman worried at a handkerchief in her hand. “Upstairs . . . the police.”

Sherlock turned and glanced at the woman then up the wooden staircase. He pulled himself away from John and started to rush up the stairs. Taking them two at a time. John went to follow him, then stopped.

_‘Police!’_ John couldn’t be involved with the police. He needed to stay off their radar. The small grey haired woman followed Sherlock up the stairs but John quickly slipped his coat on. He was out the front door and hidden around the corner before Sherlock noticed he was gone.

John turned to look up at the windows of the first floor flat. He could see the grey haired detective from earlier in the evening talking to Sherlock. The young omega looked agitated. John paused and watched the unusual omega pace around the flat, waving his arms at the police officer.

He was watching Sherlock, when a taxi pulled up in front of the building. John’s attention flipped to the taxi. The driver got out and knock on the door. The grey haired lady opened the door and let the driver in. John’s attention slipped back and forth between the taxi and the windows of 221B. John’s eyes skimmed over the cab again and he noticed the number on the plate. It was the same from earlier. It was the cab that Sherlock and he had chased through the streets of London.

The driver came back out and John started to move back across the street. He reached behind himself and wrapped his fingers around the grip of his gun. John was just pulling it out when he saw Sherlock join the driver on the pavement. John stopped, still concealed in the shadows between two parked cars. The two men spoke for a moment, then Sherlock climbed into the backseat of the cab.

John shouted and took off at a run, but the cab drove off before he could reach it. The killer was driving away with Sherlock.

~^+^~

Fortunately, John found a cab almost immediately. His taxi followed the cab Sherlock was in through the city, but lost sight of them around Roland Kerr Further Educational College. John made the driver back track over the route they had taken. His eyes shifted from left to right as he scanned the area hoping he only missed the first taxi parking. His palms were beginning to sweat. He wondered if it was too dangerous to notify the police about Sherlock and the taxi driver.

John was reaching for his phone when he noticed the empty taxi parked in front of two different buildings on campus. John knocked the plexi-glass divider between himself and the driver.

“Over there!” he pointed.

“Calm down, mate.” The driver growled. The taxi turned sharply and into the car park.

The driver hadn’t even stopped the car before John had the door open. He shoved a twenty pound note through the money slot for a seventeen pound ride and leaped out onto the tarmac. John glanced at the two buildings then rushed over to the one on the right. The door was unlocked and John thanked his luck he had picked the correct building.

He ran through the hallways, listening for the sound of voices but he only heard the sound of his shoes pounding on the tiled floor. He ran as swiftly as he could, moving from door to door. Glancing into empty classrooms and lecture halls. Flashbacks to Afghanistan slipped close to the surface. He felt the hairs rising on the back of his arms and on the back of his neck a cold sweat broke out. He wanted his gun in his hand. The weight felt like a reassurance of protection.

He glanced into a dark room that looked like a laboratory. High soapstone counters with sinks on each end were lined up in parallel rows of three. With the lights off, John could see out of the window and into the lit room of the opposite building. He saw two men in the other building. One of them was Sherlock.

John rushed to the window and shouted, but Sherlock couldn’t hear him. Sherlock talking to the driver, unaware of John in the opposite building. In Sherlock’s hand, John saw a small vial. Sherlock was holding it up to the light to look at the content. John watched as Sherlock dumped it out into his hand and held it up to his lips. The same lips John had kissed earlier that evening.

“NO!” John shouted. “SHERLOCK, NO!”

It was instinctual. He was firing before he even knew he had raised his gun. The sound seemed muted, but John knew that was only because of the adrenaline rushing through his system. The gunshot was loud and if there was someone else in the building with him, they would have heard it. He had to leave. He had to be gone before the police arrived.

John didn’t need to check. He knew the man he shot was dead. It was a difficult shot. That distance with a handgun would take someone with training. Fortunately, John had received that training. The driver would be dead or dying. Sherlock would be safe. And John could tell Bill, the murderer of his son was dead.

~^+^~

Sherlock looked annoyed as he sat in the back of the ambulance. The paramedic had slipped on the same orange blanket he had just shrugged off, over his shoulders again. Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at the beta.

“You poor thing. You’ll be alright now.”

The woman’s condescending tone and pats to his head, like he was a dog, set Sherlock’s teeth on edge. He gave her a once over glance and was about to launch into a slew of humiliating deductions when a grey haired police officer approached.

“Sherlock.” Greg Lestrade greeted the young omega.

“They keep putting this blanket on me. Why do they keep putting a blanket on me?” Sherlock rose and tossed the blanket off again.

“You’re in shock.”

“No, I’m not.”

The paramedic slipped the blanket over his shoulders again. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Well, some of the boys want to get a photo.” Greg teased the younger man.

“So the shooter? No sign?”

“Cleared off before we got here.” Greg said, glancing around the scene. “But a guy like that would have enemies, one supposes. One of them may have been following him, but . . . we don’t have anything to go on.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Sherlock said as he tipped his head slightly. His eyes sharp and piercing.

Greg sighed and pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Okay, gimme.”

Sherlock stood and took a deep breath. “The bullet pulled out of the wall will be from a handgun. Kill shot over that distance with that kind of a weapon makes it a crack shot you’re looking for. But not just a marksman but a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all so clearly he is acclimatized to violence. He only fired when I was in immediate danger so strong moral principle. Looking for a man with military service and . . .”

Sherlock glanced over and saw John Watson standing off to the side of a police car. John’s hands were folded together behind his back and in parade rest. His face was emotionless as he let his eyes sweep over the scene. He was trying to look as harmless as a possible. Sherlock knew different. He paused in his deduction.

“And what?” Greg asked.

“Actually, you know what . . . ignore me. Ignore everything I just said.” Sherlock waved his hand trying to sweep the words away.

“What?” Greg looked confused.

“It’s just the . . . shock talking.” Sherlock stepped away.

“Where are you going?” Greg followed Sherlock

“I just need to go and . . .”

“I’ve still got question.”

“Oh what now!? I’m in shock! See, I have a blanket.” Sherlock said as he tugged on the corner of the orange blanket.

“Sherlock?!”

“And I’ve just caught you a serial killer . . . more or less.”

“Alright.” Greg wasn’t sure what had happened but he knew better than to push the omega. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, my office.”

Greg turned and went back inside the building. Sherlock glanced around to see if he was being watched, then he walked over to John.

“Sargent Donavan was explaining what happened. The taxi driver, Jefferson Hope . . .” John said quietly once Sherlock was close enough to hear. “Two pills. Dreadful thing, dreadful.”

“Good shot.” Sherlock said softly.

“Yes . . . yes, must have been. Through that window.” John he glanced up towards the room where he had been.

“You would know.” Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on John’s. The alpha didn’t respond at all. He forced himself to look harmless. “You can get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t supposed you will serve anytime for this, but let’s avoid the court case.”

John glanced around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. Sherlock noticed how uncomfortable John seemed.

“Are you alright?’’ Sherlock asked.

“Of course I’m alright.”

“You just killed a man.”

“Yes, I . . . that’s true. But he wasn’t a very nice man.”

Sherlock studied John for a few more seconds. The soldier’s lips thinned and his eyes hardened.

“Were they close to you?” Sherlock asked.

“I never met the man.” John said, not really understanding who Sherlock as asking him about.

“No the victim. The person Hope murdered. The reason you shot him. Were they close to you?”

John shifted his weight back on to his heels. John couldn’t really say what the real reason he had shot Hope was. Was it to avenge Bill Murry or to save the man standing in front of him?

“He was the son of friend. A teenager who had his whole life in front of him.” John said softly.

“You’ve seen other young men die.” Sherlock countered as he took a subtle step back. He didn’t want to acknowledge the stab in his chest when John confirmed he was not the reason John had killed the man.

“They died for a reason, a purpose. Not for a sick game.”

The alpha and omega stared at each other for a moment. Then Sherlock shoved his hands deep into the pockets of this coat.

“Dinner? I know a good Chinese restaurant near Baker Street that’s still open.” Sherlock offered.

John blinked rapidly. He glanced around at the various police cars then back to the unusual omega. Tempted as he was to continue what had started in the hallway earlier in the evening, John thought it would be best to avoid the man.

“No . . . thank you. I don’t believe that would be wise, Mister Holmes.” John held his hand out to Sherlock.

Sherlock seemed confused for a moment, then resigned. He took the soldier’s hand and shook it firmly.

“John . . . thank you . . . for your assistance.”

“Yes. Thank you for a . . . unforgettable evening.”

John turned and walked away. Sherlock stood watching as the man left, quickly disappearing into the shadows. His eyes still fixed on the last place he saw John when a woman walked up to him. Her attention on the mobile in her hands.

“He wants to speak to you.” She said as she continued to type.

Sherlock hesitated, then turned and followed the beta back to a black saloon. Sherlock opened the back door and slid into the leather seats.

The thin auburn haired alpha sitting in the seat beside Sherlock didn’t greet him. Instead he handed Sherlock a thick manila envelope.

“This is an unacceptable acquaintance, Sherlock. It needs to end immediately.”

Sherlock glanced at the file his brother had handed him.

“No reason to call in your attack dogs, Mycroft. I sincerely doubt I will ever see Captain John Watson again.” Sherlock slipped the file under his coat. He would read it later, when he was alone.


	6. Charles Augustus Magnussen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty make Magnussen an offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos. I'm glad so many seem to be enjoying this story. It will be a slow build but it will also have smut.

Sebastian Moran hated the house. Appledore was a monstrosity. It seemed the house couldn’t decide if it was a greenhouse, a lighthouse or a bunker. All the windows surrounding former soldier made Moran nervous. Too many site lines for a sniper. The curving walls and half buried portions of the building added to the surrealism of the structure. It was disorientating for Moran and made him want to blow the place up.

The only thing he hated more than the building was the owner, Charles Augustus Magnussen. The man was a spider. Evil and deadly. The obsequious narcissist seemed to ooze across the room as he sat down on the white leather couches. (Something else Moran hated about Appledore – the decor. Too much white. Far too difficult to hide blood stains.) Magnussen’s dark eyes were lifeless and glassy. Like a spider’s eyes. He looked emaciated and weak, but Moran knew that was only a disguise. The man was ruthless and cruel. He enjoyed tormenting his victims instead of killing them outright. Draining them of their blood. Moran was certain that as a child, Magnussen would have pulled the wings off a butterfly before feeding it slowly to a pile of hungry ants.

Moran wanted nothing more than to put a bullet hole right between the man’s eyes, but Moriarty had insisted that Magnussen was a valuable asset. Moran forced himself to hold his hands at his sides while Jim spoke to the freak.

“This will provide you with the necessary inducement to encourage Smallwood to agree to the betrayal.” Jim said as he held up the memory stick.

Magnussen stared at the offered gift, but didn’t reach for it. His eyes shifting from the memory stick back to Moriarty’s face.

“And why would you be willing to give me such a valuable commodity? Surely, you could find a more lucrative buyer of such information?” Magnussen asked.

Moriarty’s smile reminded Moran of a shark just before feeding time. “Yes, I could. In fact, I’ve had several offers from the Chinese as well as the North Koreans but that does not fit into my plans.”

“But forcing a wedge between Smallwood and Holmes does?” Magnussen asked wondering if he was being set up by the other man.

“I am indebted to the Holmes. Have been for most of my life. If I am able to encourage a public disagreement between the two of them . . . question his reputation and position, how can I not intervene?”

Moran struggled to keep his expression neutral. It was the Holmes who were in debt to Moriarty not the other way around. It was the Holmes who were going to pay the price. Again, Moran’s hand twitched. A bullet in Mycroft’s face would be a kindness compared to what Jim had planned.

“I’m a mere newspaper man. No one of importance. I sincerely doubt anyone would care what I might have to say.” Magnussen said in false humility. He considered himself the smartest man in the room and dealing with this ‘criminal’ was beneath himself. But Moriarty had brought to him a wonderful opportunity.

“A mere newspaper man who has the opportunity to step into the very halls of power. Think of the all the interesting little bits of information you could gain with Lady Smallwood indebted to you?”

Magnussen cared nothing about any dispute between Moriarty and Mycroft Holmes, but there was an omega in Holmes family. An arrogant prideful beautiful omega. One that needed breaking. The idea of breaking such a proud arrogant omega from such an influential family a desirable prospect, but he still didn’t trust Moriarty.

Magnussen knew he never wanted to be indebted to Moriarty. He could see how ruthless the man could be. If he proceeded with this relationship with the man, Magnussen needed to turn the tables and make it Moriarty who owed him the favor, and not the other way around.

“I do not wish to be . . . obligated to you.”

“I only wish to help you. It isn’t as if you hadn’t purchased information about powerful people before. Consider this another transaction without compensation.”

“There is always compensation.” Magnussen said without any emotions. “But the question is who will pay it.”

Moriarty’s expression hardened. His dark eyes narrowed at the Magnussen. He needed Magnussen’s reputation and cruelty to start to chip away at the pedestal that Mycroft Holmes was on. He needed Holmes’ attention focused on Magnussen so he could work silently behind scenes until it was time to pounce on the family. Like a cat ensnaring a mouse.

“Do you have a purposed compensation?” Moriarty barely hid the discontent in his voice.

“I may want a companion. Someone to replace my dear Ian.”

Charles Augustus Magnussen was recently widowed. His last omega, Ian Harris Magnussen, had allegedly committed suicide. According to the investigation, the simpleton had jumped off the roof of Magnussen’s publishing office building. The poor omega’s bruised and broken body sprawled on the pavement for everyone to see. The publicity had been unwelcome to Magnussen but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

The coroner had insisted that the numerous bruises varied in age and couldn’t have all been caused by the fall. He couldn’t stipulate that the twelve story drop was the cause of the skull fracture, but he also couldn’t say it wasn’t. After the ‘suicide’ of the omega, many started to question the death of Magnussen’s first omega. That omega had died at home. The death certificate listed a heart condition as cause of death, but no autopsy had been performed. The body had been quickly cremated. Rumors persisted that the omega had been beaten to death by Magnussen.

“Of course. Obviously it is too soon for you to consider looking for another bond-mate but there are avenues I could direct you to for temporary company.”

“There is a Holmes omega.”

Moriarty pouted. He had plans for Sherlock. He closed his fingers around the memory stick and pulled his hand back. “I’m sure that the North Korean’s will be happy to pay my price for this information and you should proceed with your mourning in private. No reason to burden yourself with another omega so soon after the death of your last . . . beloved.”

Moran shifted slightly in his seat as his right hand moved closer to the hidden gun in his jacket.

Magnussen’s eyes flicked to the memory stick as it disappeared into Moriarty’s grasp. If Magnussen acquired the stick, he could blackmail Holmes into giving him the omega and remaining silent if anything happened to the boy. He could also have power over Moriarty by threatening to reveal where he had gotten the memory stick in the first place. That would be more valuable to Magnussen then any amount of money the Korean’s would pay. Control over two powerful men as well as a new toy.

Magnussen opened his palm and held it out towards Moriarty. “You have spent so many years on your plans to repay the Holmes what you owe them. I am more than willing to help you. But I am a poor man . . .”

Moriarty raised a single eyebrow and turned his head to look around the outlandish room in the futuristic house.

“The money I spent to build this house was the inheritance of my first omega, Geoffrey. May he rest his soul.” Magnussen smiled. “I require information.”

“What information?” Moriarty asked looking sideways at the other man.

“What is the debt between you and Mycroft Holmes?”

Moriarty leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He smiled brightly. “I could tell you, but then, my dear Sebastian would have to shoot you.”

Relieved, Moran pulled the gun from his shoulder holster and pointed it at Magnussen’s head. The alpha didn’t even flinch as the gun aimed at him. His lifeless dark eyes never blinked.

“If that is the case, then I will accept your condition of ignorance. I will contact Lady Smallwood within a week and inform her of Mycroft Holmes’ grave mistake.” Magnussen said coolly.

Images of Sherlock’s pale skin came to Magnussen’s mind. Images of a blemish free ivory skin slowly mottling with bruises and whip marks.

~^+^~

It had been three weeks since the night Jefferson Hope had died in front in Sherlock. He hadn’t seen or heard from John Watson since that night. He had purposefully left the envelope Mycroft had given him untouched. He refused to accept help from his meddling brother.

Mycroft had hinted that there was something wrong with John Watson. That he was not a person that Sherlock could trust or depend on. Sherlock had reviewed every moment he had spent with John. He had sat in his ‘Mind Palace’ and replayed the event over and over again in his head. He had built a special room for John in his Mind Palace. It had blue walls. The same color blue as John’s eyes. Framed pictures of captured moments with John hung on the walls in the special room. When he came to the picture of the kisses in the hallway, Sherlock paused. His mind hovered over that moment.

The sensation of John leaning up into him and the first brush of John’s warm lips over his. Feeling his heartrate increase and a warmth fill his abdomen. He had been kissed before. He had allowed other alphas to explore his mouth, but none had tasted like John. None had made Sherlock want more.

John Watson seemed so plain and boring, but the man was anything but. Shorter than the average alpha, but just as strong. His compact frame and hideous jumpers hid the well-earned muscles of a soldier. Blond hair flecked with grey. Sherlock was certain it had been fairer while John had been deployed. The Afghan sun would have bleached John’s hair to a pale gold. A simple round face that held secrets. The more Sherlock looked at it, the more Sherlock found it interesting and handsome. The compassion and care of a doctor was present in John’s eyes and expression. The wear and burden of a soldier was there in the lines around his eyes and the creases around his mouth. The dichotomy of the two played in Sherlock’s mind. Soldier – doctor. Killer – healer.

Although the idea that Sherlock needed protection was repugnant to the proud omega, the idea that John had murdered the man to save Sherlock was overpoweringly enticing. The thought that John was willing to kill for him, made Sherlock tingle all over.

When Sherlock realized John was actually hunting Jefferson Hope for his own reasons and for a different victim, it hurt. He refused to focus on the reasons behind that hurt. He refused to acknowledge that the soldier had so quickly breached his emotional walls.

In Sherlock’s mind palace, he sat down in the leather chair in John’s room. His eyes moved from one picture to another. There were far too few framed moments on the walls. He wanted more information about John. He needed it. His eyes glanced over at the thick manila envelope on the imaginary table beside him. It was still fastened closed with Mycroft’s ostentatious sealing wax over the flap.

The envelope was thick. It appeared that Mycroft’s sniffer dogs had been thorough. Inside might be the information about the unusual alpha that Sherlock wanted. But there might be a report stating John was already bonded. Or a photograph of John with a pack of blond pups. _‘NO’_ , Sherlock shouted in his mind palace. He refused to believe John would be boring and married. John wouldn’t be the ordinary alpha, out looking for the next omega to seduce. No, not John.

Sherlock’s mind wondered into speculation he rarely went to. ‘ _What were John preferences? Male or female? Omega or beta? Tall or short? Fair skinned or tan?’_ He knew he could deduce all those things if he had been allowed more time to study John Watson, but he wasn’t. He only had a few brief moments with the man. Brief, intense, memorable moments. Sherlock wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him but it did.

He slipped out of his mind palace and back into the sitting room of 221B. His eyes flicked up and at the various photographs he had pinned around the fireplace. His current case and a case that would pay handsomely if he solved it. The largest photograph was of a brick wall with the graffiti that Raz had found. The stark yellow figures on the aged red bricks were taunting him. _‘If you can’t deduce something as simple as John Watson, how in the world are you going to decipher us?’_ They said to him.

Sherlock sighed. He would decode the symbols. He would learn John’s secret. And he would do it alone, because he didn’t need anyone else’s assistance.

~^+^~

John read through another newspaper. He had read one to two papers a day since the night at Roland Kerr Further University, where he had shot a man. He told James that he was checking to see if there were any reports about the armored car robbery, but that wasn’t the only thing John was looking for. The first day after he had shot Jefferson Hope, there had been a newspaper account of the incident. A photograph of Sherlock sitting on the bumper of the ambulance with a lurid headline above it, _“Fifth victim rescued from killer.”_ John could hear Sherlock protesting he was not a victim and was responsible for capturing the man. The corners of John’s lips twitched as he felt a smile grow at the thought of Sherlock. John refused to cut the photo out, but since then, he has scoured the papers looking for anything he could about the enigmatic omega. He found Sherlock’s name popping up in odd inquiries and unusual police cases. But he found nothing in today’s news. John folded the paper in half and added it to the pile that needed to be taken out to the recycling.

He and James had been sharing the flat in Wanstead. It was a quiet neighborhood and no one seemed too concerned about the two alphas sharing a flat over a vegetarian restaurant. John got used to the assumption that he and James Sholto were partners. It helped explain why he turned down offers from the pretty waitress at the restaurant.

He hadn’t been on a date since the night he met Sherlock Holmes. He hadn’t wanted to. It had been several weeks now and he still thought often about the proud and strange omega. He wondered if Sherlock was seeing anyone. If the omega was engaged yet. Sherlock was in his mid-twenties. John wondered how the man had stayed unbound for so long. ‘ _It wasn’t like Sherlock came from some dysfunctional family,’_ John said to himself. But then again, John realized he didn’t know anything about Sherlock’s family or his home life. He didn’t smell an alpha in the flat, but there was another omega living there. Sherlock didn’t seem concerned to be around an unbounded alpha so maybe he was just one of those omegas who didn’t like alphas. He preferred an omega lover.

John growled instinctively. The sound even surprised himself. He glanced around and saw James watching him.

“You alright, mate?” James asked.

“Yeah, just hate being still. Wondering when we can start planning the next job.” John said as he reached for this cup of cooled coffee. He took a sip then grimaced. He pushed himself out of the chair and went into the small utility kitchen. Pouring the coffee into the sink, he rinsed the cup and set it on the drain rack.

“Speaking of the next job. I got a request today.” James said.

“A request? Since when do we take requests?” John turned and looked suspiciously at his friend.

“A contact from Kandahar. He was working with opium smugglers from China.”

“We don’t deal drugs, James.” John said firmly.

“Yeah, but it’s not like that. They have antiquities. Ancient Chinese artwork and jewelry. They have a way to bring it in but they need help getting it sold legit here. Or even better in the US.”

“We don’t know anyone who wants to buy Chinese artwork.” John pushed himself off the edge of the counter and walked back to his chair.

“They’re looking for someone to help them get the stuff out of England and into the US, who doesn’t ask a lot of questions.” James winked.

“James, we’re not going to do anything blind. We’re not stupid enough to trust others to protect us.”

“We’re experienced enough to know what is going on without having to asked stupid questions, John. We know the risks and the payout is substantial.”

“Better than armored trucks?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Safer that armored trucks. You may like being shot at but I don’t. And a few hops across the Atlantic and we could retire for life. I’ll have enough saved up to buy that little island off of Scotland.” James smiled.

“Only you would think that winters on a wind-swept island in the North Sea is retirement.” John shook his head. “When do we meet these smugglers?”

John wasn’t sold on the idea but it never hurt to keep one’s options open. And maybe it would be a nice diversion to get his mind off the unusual omega, Sherlock Holmes.

“Tonight. We are supposed to meet them at a performance.”

“A performance?” John asked confused.

“They are Chinese acrobats. They have a circus performing here special.”


	7. The Blind Banker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Sholto meets Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler for the Blind Banker. Again the best lines are from Gatiss and Moffat. Thanks for all the support and comments. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

James told John it was a ‘circus’. John glanced around the room. This was not a circus. The old building reminded him of the ‘Palais’; the dance hall were his parent had met. The large open room had yellowing walls and a peculiar smell. There was a small stage towards the back of the room, where bands played back in the day. The stage, itself, was hidden behind a dusty red curtain. A circle of white candles were placed on the dance floor in front of the stage. The circus acrobats performed as candlelight shone up into their faces; casting soft shadows and muted light.

Only about two dozen spectators were present for the evening. James and John stood towards the back of the crowd and shifting behind the other on-lookers as they watched a woman dressed in a traditional red silk Chinese robe approach.

“James? This is . . . odd.” John whispered to the man beside him.

“This is not their day job.” James whispered back.

“Forgot, they’re not a circus. They’re a gang of international smugglers.” John mocked, uncertain if this was good idea to be here.

The woman pulled a cloth off a large ornate crossbow. She pulled a feather from her headdress and let it float down into a metal bowl attached to the trigger. The added weight of the feather snapped the trigger on the crossbow and a bolt flew across the room, impaling into a wooden target. Spectators gasped and glanced around at each other. John’s eyes carefully looked into each face then he paused. Standing near the curtain was a tall man in dark coat. Sherlock.

The omega’s eyes hesitated on John for a moment. Confusion and concern quickly came and went across Sherlock’s face. John felt the need to approach but something held him back. His senses heightened. He glanced around quickly to see if this was a trap and any of the other audience members were the police. John didn’t recognize anyone. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them but he didn’t relax. The crowd’s eyes were fixed on the man struggling as he was chained to the wooden target that had been pierced in the demonstration. The crossbow was reloaded and readied to fire at the restrained man.

John glanced back and Sherlock was gone. John stepped forward, pushing some of the spectators back as he looked around to see if Sherlock had moved somewhere else in the crowd. His frustration mounted when he didn’t see the young omega anywhere.

The man chained to the wooden target growled and struggled. The chains clattered as a soft drum rattled a rapid beat. It was if the drum was matching John’s heartbeat. He wondered for a moment if he had imagined seeing Sherlock.

John was still looking at the faces of the crowd when he heard a loud thud and a collective gasp from the audience. He glanced back to see the crossbow bolt lodged into the wooden target and the man who had been chained there, laying on the floor, freed. The crowd broke out in excited applause as the man slowly climbed to his feet.

John reached for James’ elbow.

“Get out of here.” John whispered.

“Why? We are supposed to meet the ‘General’ after the performance.” James said as he leaned closer to John to whisper.

“I think . . . it could be a trap.”

James twisted and looked at John. The soft lights making James’ scared face smoother as his intense grey blue eyes stared at John.

Suddenly, a body flew out backwards from behind the curtain. The man landed in the middle of circle. A Chinese acrobat leaped off the stage and onto the dark haired man on the ground. It took John only a moment to realize it was Sherlock. He growled as he rushed forward and grabbed for the man attacking the omega. Before he could pull the Asian off of Sherlock, he was tackled by another member of Chinese troop.

John’s ‘hand to hand’ combat training came back quickly. He twisted and clasped both of his hands together to slam them down on his attacker’s back. The man grunted and let go of John’s waist. John brought his knee up and crashed it into the stranger’s jaw. The man’s head snapped back, and John saw the man’s eyes roll back into his skull. The stranger collapsed on the floor unconscious. John twisted to see Sherlock still wrestling with the Chinese acrobat.

Around them, the unknowing audience shouted and screamed. Many had started to flee the auditorium. The sound of running feet and shouts accompanied the sounds of the fight.

The Chinese acrobat had his hands wrapped around Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock was struggling, but he couldn’t catch his breath. His long fingers clawed at the acrobat’s hands. The pale skin was turning red. James Sholto rushed forward. He had grabbed the acrobat and tried to pull him off Sherlock. He yanked on the attacker’s arms, but the man wouldn’t release Sherlock. John fought to his feet to rescue the omega. John punched the man in the face. The acrobat went limp and finally released Sherlock’s throat. James pulled the man off Sherlock.

Sherlock took in a deep raspy breath, then coughed violently. James held the acrobat as John punched him again. The man slipped from James’ hands and fell to the hard wooden floor. John grabbed for Sherlock’s shoulder and picked the gasping man off the floor. James grabbed Sherlock’s other arm and the three men ran out of the building behind the rest of the fleeing crowd.

Within seconds, they were on the street. James pushed them towards his car. John shoved Sherlock onto the back seat then followed in behind the omega. James got behind the wheel and quickly drove off.

John twisted on the backseat and pulled the scarf away from Sherlock’s neck. The acrobat had been able to get his hands around the thin neck, leaving dark bruises in the pale skin. Anger swept through the alpha. _How dare someone leave marks on this omega?_ He thought to himself. An unexpected wave of protectiveness crashed into John.

“Are you alright?” John growled. “Sherlock, answer me! Are you alright?!”

John’s callous fingers carefully pressed into the marred skin, checking for any damage deeper than just the skin.

“Yes,” Sherlock rasped. He grunted, trying to clear his throat. “Yes, I’m fine. What . . . what were you doing there?”

“More importantly . . . what were you doing there? Why was that man trying to kill you?” John asked. He forced himself to lean back away from Sherlock. John wiped his forehead and looked down at his bruised knuckles.

“A case . . .” Sherlock coughed again. “A case. They were smuggling Chinese antiquities.”

John glanced up into the rearview mirror and saw James’ blue eyes looking back at him.

“Smugglers? What makes you think that?” John asked.

“I was hired to find out who broke into a private office at a bank.” Sherlock slowly untwisted his scarf from his neck and gently rubbed his throat. “Clues at the scene lead me to a murder victim, then another. That led me to Chinese symbols. A code.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were at a Chinese circus or who you were fighting with.” James said from the front seat.

“They are not real circus performers. They are a front for a smuggling operation. One of their mules took something he wasn’t supposed to take and they are looking for it. Murdering anyone who could possibly have it.” Sherlock leaned back in the seat and rested his head.

“How can you be certain? And what was taken?” John asked.

“No, I don’t know what was taken but it had to be valuable. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense of all the evidence.”

John glance up at James in the mirror again but spoke to Sherlock. “And that was the reason that man was trying to throttle you?”

“He caught me searching their dressing room behind the curtain. I found the same kind of paint that was used to write the cyphers.”

“Same kind of paint?” John asked confused.

“Yes. A yellow aerosolize can paint.” Sherlock slowly refastened his scarf around his neck.

John sighed and looked back at the omega. “Sherlock, you could have been killed tonight. Did you go there alone? Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

Sherlock looked confused for a moment and shrugged. “It was for a case.”

“You said they had already killed two people. You could have been number three.”

“But I escaped . . .”

“Only because James and I were there, damn it. Sherlock you can’t keep doing stupid things like this. You’re an omega. It’s too dangerous.”

“I fail to see where my gender plays a role in this investigation.” Sherlock said sitting up as straight as he could. Emphasizing his height over John’s frame. “I would have been able to free myself from the situation. I didn’t require your assistance. Take me to Baker Street.”

“Investigation?” James asked suspiciously.

“He works with the Met.” John explained. John stared back at the mirror and caught James’ worried expression. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this under control.”

“You sure?” James asked.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about.”

Sherlock gave a huff and crossed his arms over his chest. “Stop acting like I don’t understand what the two of you are talking about. I won’t report you to the police.”

John twisted and glared at the omega. James quickly turned the car down the ramp of an underground carpark. He sped the car into the poorly lit garage and over speed bumps. He quickly parked the car and turned around. The small gun was already pointed at Sherlock when he spoke.

“Who are you exactly and what do you think you know?” James asked.

“James, put that away. I can vow for him.” John said. He saw the anger in his friend’s eyes and he wasn’t sure he could defuse the situation especially if Sherlock kept talking.

“Talk, damn it!”

Sherlock looked unconcerned at the weapon. He took a deep breath in through his nose and began.

“The two of you served together. You were John’s commanding officer but it is obvious that you defer to his judgment routinely. Neither one of you settled back into civilian life well, and decided to use your training from the army in less than legal pursuits. The fact that the two of you were there at the performance tonight means that you were about to enter into criminal enterprise with the smugglers.”

“Maybe I just like Chinese circuses.” John offered.

“Really, John.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If that was the case, I’m sure you would have found a more respectable performance to watch. They contacted you and not the other way around. And since neither of the two attackers recognized you, you had not finalized any agreement with the smugglers. I sincerely doubt they would be willing to enter into one now after this, though. You may need to find another . . . ‘job’.” Sherlock gave the two men a fake smile.

“John, how does he know so much?” James asked.

“Because I observe.” Sherlock snapped back. “I’m not an idiot like some people. Now take me home because we all know you are not going to shoot me tonight.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.” James leered.

“I was seen with the two of you. I was seen getting into this car with you. And it is extremely difficult to get blood out of cloth upholstery.” Sherlock spoke as if he was telling a child why they couldn’t do as they wanted. “Besides . . . John would stop you.”

“I would?” John asked surprised.

“Yes. If you wouldn’t let Jefferson Hope poison me, then you won’t let your army friend make a terrible mistake and shoot me in the back of a car that is obviously his own, and not one he borrowed.”

“John? How does he know?” James was getting nervous.

“I observe.” Sherlock said again, deadpan. He rolled his eyes again. “Boring.”

“James, just put the gun away and let’s take the berk home. If he didn’t tell the police I shot Hope, then he won’t tell them that we saved his scrawny arse from been beat up.”

“I repeat, you didn’t save me.” Sherlock growled.

“You keep telling yourself that. James, 221 Baker Street. 221B.” John leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. He forced himself to ignore the need to protect the insolent omega. He didn’t know why he was letting the man get under his skin. He never let anyone else do that to him, but Sherlock Holmes seemed to be pushing through John’s defenses without even trying.

~^+^~

Sherlock had rushed up the stairs of his flat and immediately sat down at the desk. He grabbed the first book on a stack of them and started thumbing through the pages. John and James came into the flat behind Sherlock. Two, twenty-one, B looked roughly how John had remembered it. Cluttered and disorganized but homey. He glanced around looking for evidence of the flat mate that Sherlock had spoken of, but other than a trashy romance novel that John severely doubted Sherlock would ever touch let alone read, there was no evidence of the other omega.

“Where’s your flat mate tonight?” John asked.

“Hmm, who?” Sherlock glanced up. “Oh, Victor. . . Date.”

James shrugged his shoulders at John. Apparently the cryptic answer wasn’t what John wanted. James looked around the strange sitting room. Across the walls and pinned to the fireplace mantle were photographs and maps. The photos were of graffiti. Chinese appearing letters or figures in yellow paint. He stepped over and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“So this is what you do? Solve puzzles for the police?”

Sherlock sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Yes.”

“And this is some kind of cypher?” James asked as he picked up one of the photos. Sherlock grunted, grabbing another book off the pile. “And pair symbol together corresponds to a word. Like a book code? Page and word?”

Sherlock looked up at the man. “How do you know that?”

“Remember, military training here. Book codes are common methods of relaying information. And look here.” James pointed to one of the photos. “Some of the symbols have been translated.”

Sherlock grabbed the photo out of James’ hand. He glanced down and saw several of the symbols had been translated. _“8 million jade pin”_

Sherlock stood up quickly and grabbed his coat.

“Sherlock!? Where are you going?!” John said as he tried to reach for the omega.

“The museum, John! The book is at the museum! Soo Lin was translating the code when she died!” Sherlock leaped out of John’s reach and ran down the stairs before the soldier could catch him.

“Soo Lin?” James asked looking at John who was standing on the landing.

“He’s insane.” John muttered. “I don’t know what he is talking about.”

“Well, do we wait or what?”

“We leave.” John growled. He zipped his jacket closed, using more force than necessary.

James followed John down the steps and out of the building. They walked to where James had parked his car. James grabbed the door handle and opened the driver’s door. Neither man saw the two assailants come out of the shadows. One man brought a blackjack down hard on the side of John’s head. The soldier only registered the sensation of pain before he blacked out.

The second assailant kicked forward and shoved James into the driver’s seat of James’ car. James twisted and raised his gun but the assailant was already pointing a weapon at him. James glanced out of the car and saw John collapsed on the pavement with the stranger pointing a gun at John’s head.

“If you try to fight, he will be shot first.” The stranger said.

James hesitated, then handed his gun over.

~^+^~

John woke up tied to a chair. His head pounded and he could feel blood trickling down from a wound in his scalp. He blinked and tried to focus. He could see James was tied in a chair too. A gag was tied in the man’s mouth. The cloth pulled at his scarred face. They were in a tunnel of some kind. Old brick walls curved above them as firelight from lit rubbish bins burned around them.

“What can you say about the repeated failure of an assassin to kill an individual?” The woman from the Chinese acrobats stepped out of the shadows and into the light. In her hand she held a small .380 automatic. She slid back the action and held it to John’s head. John twisted his arms trying to free himself. He could feel the rough rope bite into the flesh of his wrists. “It tells me that the assassin wasn’t trying hard enough.”

John watched as the woman’s finger moved and the gun clicked. Dry fired. John released the breath he was holding and slumped in the chair.

“Tell me, Mister Holmes, where is the Empress’ pin?” The woman said as she slipped a loaded magazine in the gun.

John watched as she slid the action on the gun again and a cartridge was loaded into the gun.

“What? . . . Wait, who? I’m not Sherlock.” John said. He was confused.

“You were seen leaving Sherlock Holmes’ flat. One of the two of you is Holmes. One of the two of you knows where the pin is.” The woman said.

“We don’t know what you are talking about!” John tried to not shout. He fought against his bonds again.

“You were seen at the performance tonight. Your associate was caught searching our backstage.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not Sherlock Holmes. I don’t know what you are talking about. I don’t know anything about a pin!”

The woman smiled. “In a few minutes you will tell me everything.”

One of her assistants positioned the large crossbow from the performance in front of James’ chair. The heavy bolt was placed in the cradle. She stabbed at the sandbag and the lead weight began to lower into the triggering mechanism.

“Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we proudly present Sherlock Holmes’ companion in a death defying act . . .”

“Please!” John shouted.

“You’ve seen the act before, how dull for you.” The woman said to James. “You know how it ends.”

James struggled to free himself. The two men fought but couldn’t break the ropes. His eyes locked onto John’s. It brought the war back to both of them. They had survived battle together but were they going to survive this?

“I’m not Sherlock!”

“I don’t believe you . . .” She sneered at John.

“You should, you know.” Sherlock’s voice came down the tunnel. “Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him. How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?”

“Late,” whispered John.

The woman pointed the gun down the tunnel as one of her men wandered towards Sherlock’s voice.

“That’s a semi-automatic, if you fire it the bullet will travel over a thousand meters per second.”

She waited then asked. “Well?”

“Well.” Sherlock rushed out of the darkness and crashed a lead pipe into the head of the man walking down the tunnel. “The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone, might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.”

Suddenly, Sherlock came out of the shadows and kicked over one of the burning rubbish bins. The sparks and fire poured out across the floor of the tunnel. The woman took off running while Sherlock knelt behind James’ chair and started to untie the man’s bonds.

Out of blackness leaped another Chinese acrobat. The man slipped a red scarf over Sherlock’s neck and twisted it. He yanked Sherlock way from James’ chair. John shouted.

“SHERLOCK!”

John tried to stand and tipped his chair over. He struggled in his bonds and kicking wildly. Sherlock wrestled with the acrobat, fighting to get back to James and the ropes tying him to the chair. The lead weight slowly descending onto the trigger mechanism.

Sherlock pushed the man back and grabbed at James’ chair. The acrobat tightened the scarf around Sherlock’s throat, cutting off his air supply. John kicked at the crossbow mount. The crossbow shifted just as it fired. The heavy bolt slammed into the acrobat’s chest. His grip on the red scarf slackened and Sherlock was free. He fell to his knees beside John.

John twisted and looked up into Sherlock’s startled eyes.

“Don’t worry, the next date won’t be like this.” John said with weak smile.

“Next date?” Sherlock queried as he stared into John handsome face.


	8. The Game of Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The net begins to tighten around the Holmes.

Mycroft Holmes was very good at chess. It was one of the few games he truly enjoyed as a child. Unfortunately, as he grew older and more observant, it became tedious. After five minutes with his opponent, he could predict their every move and counter move to his. He knew the length of the game and certainty of his winning it before the second move on the board. But he still enjoyed playing chess with a worthy opponent. And that thought crowded his mind as he walked into the reception.

Mycroft entered the reception half an hour after it was supposed to have started. He despised gatherings like this but they were necessity for good diplomacy. He had learned previously that anyone he really wanted to speak to would arrive late and leave early, hence his own arrival thirty minutes late and his planned escape within twenty minutes. He glanced at his watch counting down the minutes until he could leave.

As he entered the large ballroom, his thoughts were elsewhere. He knew it was important to be here, but he really was needed at his desk. The defense thumb drive was still missing. The police and his own agents had gotten nowhere investigating the murder of defense analyst. Andrew West. And Sherlock had developed a regrettable connection with Captain John Watson. Mycroft couldn’t stop the feeling that all these elements were like some kind of chess game being played between himself and an invisible opponent. A very intelligent opponent.

Mycroft hesitated by the doors as he scanned the room for the four individuals he wished to speak to. He immediately saw Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. The elegant woman was dressed in a blue pencil skirt suit of immaculate tailoring. The clean sharp lines of the suit declared understated and very expensive. The soft white drape of her silk blouse both accentuated her throat while limited the appearance of her age.

Lady Smallwood’s crystal blue eyes locked on Mycroft’s and beckoned him over. Mycroft nodded and walked forcefully towards her. That is when he noticed the dumpy man standing beside her. He was dressed in a florid blue suit with a garish wide pen stripes. His buttoned up waistcoat looked like it was straining to retain the man’s girth. He wore his collar open without a tie. Unbuttoned low enough to show the hint of blond chest hair. The man had a round face that matched his round body. A broad forehead and thinning blond hair. He had sad eyes and the corners of his mouth drooped downward.

Lady Smallwood held out her hand and Mycroft dutifully took it and shook it gently. He felt the sudden squeeze of Lady Smallwood’s diminutive hand. ‘ _A warning’_ he thought to himself.

“Mycroft, here is someone I would like to introduce to you.” She said with smooth diction of years in diplomacy. “Mycroft Holmes, Culverton Smith, Culverton . . . Mycroft Holmes of the Home Office.”

“Oh, the mighty Mycroft Holmes. I’ve heard about you.” Culverton Smith took Mycroft’s hand in both of his. He held it close to his chest as spoke, refusing to release it. “It is an honor.”

“You must be mistaken, Mister Smith. I only hold a minor position in Her Majesty’s government.” Mycroft said with a well-practiced smile.

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Smith tried to smile but his flabby jowls kept the corners of mouth turned down. “I want to speak to you about a proposition. A new opportunity for you.”

Mycroft’s eyes darted sideways at Lady Smallwood. He could see the tightening of the muscles around her lips and the twitch at the corner of her eye.

“I’m afraid that I won’t be able to stay very long today to discuss any . . . new proposals. But if you contact my office, my secretary will make an appointment for you.” Mycroft said as he tried to retrieve his hand back from Smith. The shorter man refused to let go.

“You will be surprised by my offer.” Smith continued. “You know with the political changes coming and upheaval in the economy it really would be in your best interest to speak to me.”

Mycroft pulled his hand away from Smith forcefully. “As I stated before . . . please contact my office. Now I must speak privately with Lady Smallwood. Please excuse us.”

Mycroft took Elizabeth Smallwood by the elbow and directed her away from the shorter man. Mycroft could feel Lady Smallwood relax the further they were away from Smith.

“What an odious little man.” She said softly.

“What did he want? Who let him in here?” Mycroft said as he took two glasses of champagne from a serving tray and handed one to Lady Smallwood.

“I don’t know, but when I find out I will have them fired. He is some media reality star. Successful business man who is more personality than substance. But he is wealthy. Comes from a wealthy family. He’s given millions to charity.” Elizabeth took a sip as her eyes scanned over the crowds.

“What could he possibly offer the government?” Mycroft asked. He didn’t sip the champagne. He found that the quality of the alcohol at events like this were far below his tastes.

“Probably wants to expand the lottery or something else ridiculous.” Elizabeth turned and smiled at Mycroft. “I will leaving for my country home this weekend.”

“Oh, will you gone long?” Mycroft asked not really listening to the woman. He was mentally counting down the time he had left and still had not spoken to the three other guests.

“Only for few days. It is very recuperative there. You should join me.”

Mycroft coughed silently. She smiled again.

“If you wish. It is a large house; many bedrooms. But I do not have many servants.”

Lady Elizabeth Smallwood turned and walked smoothly away from Mycroft. He watched as she went. Her shoulders square and her waist thin. Even in middle-aged, she was a lovely woman. She was also an alpha. For a brief moment, Mycroft thought what a wonderful challenge it would be to bed an alpha. Then he remember his own parents’ tumultuous relationship. It was a shame. She was a very intriguing woman.

Across the room from him, Culverton Smith watched. The short man sneered as he watched Smallwood walk away from Holmes. Smith pulled out his phone and started to text to the number he had been given.

‘I see what you mean. She leads him around by his nose.’ CS

‘Are you agreed?’

‘Yes. When do we start?’ CS

‘Now.’

~^+^~

Sebastian Moran sat in the flat across from the Chinese woman’s flat. The window was open and the cold air had over taken the room. After years in the desert, Moran considered the cold air a blessing and relished the feel of it.

Jim had rented this flat just in case it was needed. He was playing his own game of chess in his head and like a good tactician, he weighed the need to sacrifice a pawn for the win. Always thinking two steps ahead of everyone else. But this time Moran wanted to question Jim’s decision. The ex-Chinese general had served for Moriarty for years. She was not a pawn but more like a valuable chess piece, like a bishop or a rook. The smuggling ring had been effective for several months. They were just before expanding it and using it for more than just antiques. He didn’t think Jim would let it fall apart so quickly, but he did. Moran thought it would have been better to shoot the omega than to let the operation fall apart.

The idiot Chinese woman was more concern about retrieving the eight million pound jade hair pin than keeping a low profile. One thing Jim insisted on was a low profile. He didn’t like the idea of drawing attention to his network. The Chinese general had failed to Jim in that regard. She murdered her couriers and now Sherlock Holmes was aware of them.

So now Moran was here to make sure the message got out. _‘Keep your head down and don’t draw attention to yourself or to Jim Moriarty.’_ Months of work thrown away over one mistake.

The sniper rifle sat on the table with its tripod. Moran sat silently in the dark waiting for the order to come through the microphone in his ear. He could hear Moriarty typing on his computer. Jim was communicating with Chinese woman. She was trying to explain why she had allowed the smuggling ring to be discovered by the omega.

“Now,” Jim said softly through the microphone. That was Moran’s cue.

He pressed his cheek into the stock of the rifle and took one deep breath. Looking down the scope he could see into the woman’s flat. The red laser dot was centered on her forehead. He released his breath part way then stopped breathing. A gentle squeeze of the trigger and then the gun pushed back into his shoulder. The report was muted by the suppressor.

Moran watch through the scope as a red cloud of blood and brain matter sprayed out behind the woman’s head. She slumped forward and fell out of his view.

Moran quickly stood up and closed the window. He disassembled the rifle and placed it back into its case. He was out on the street climbing into the car waiting for him when Jim called him.

“Is it done?” Jim asked.

“Of course. Why do you need to ask?”

“I apologize. I should know better. You have never let me down. Smith texted me. It is a go on his end. Are you ready to start?”

“Yes.” Moran said simply.

“Very good.”


	9. Is This What Dating is Like?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock muses about dating John Watson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware of the tags.

Sherlock couldn’t sleep. He left his flat around five in the morning and went walking. He traveled the city. He watched the deliveries to the restaurants and the shops. He stood with the commuters as they crowded the platforms of the tube stations. He listened to the city come awake around him. The horns and whistles. The muted conversations. The heartbeat.

But he couldn’t concentrate on the city. Instead his mind kept slipping back to what John Watson had said to him in the abandoned tunnel.

_“The next date won’t be like this.”_

_The next date? Were they dating? Was John Watson courting him? Did he want to be courted by John? Or anyone?_

Sherlock prided himself of being completely aware of every possibility. He was able to determine the outcome of every situation, but John Watson confused the omega completely. The tan soldier with the alluring eyes, never behaved or said what Sherlock expected. Sherlock had been able to rebuke any solicitations of bonding. He had refused to engage in any of the ritualistic dating practices that his mother and brother insisted on. He didn’t need a mate, he didn’t want one. But somehow, he apparently was dating John Watson. And he didn’t find the idea repulsive.

As Sherlock entered Regents Park, he thought of the few moments he and John had been together. They had been exciting and exhilarating. He had cherished the unique comradery he felt with the man. John didn’t belittle Sherlock or treat him like he was incapable of taking care of himself. It had almost felt like a partnership. Was running over rooftops and chasing down criminals John’s idea of dates? Was it Sherlock’s? Then there was the kiss. The taste of the alpha’s lips. Something smoky and rich. Like cumin or spice. The memory caused a surge of anticipation to spark through the omega. He licked his lips wanting to taste John there again.

Sherlock came into his flat to find his flat-mate, Victor Trevor, sprawled across their couch. The omega was still wearing his dressing gown and pajamas. An ashtray with several stubbed out cigarettes butts was sitting on Victor’s chest.

“Mrs. Hudson will be furious if she spies you smoking.” Sherlock said as he removed his leather gloves. Sherlock pulled off his coat and hung it on the hook by the door. Sherlock had often smoked in the flat too, but he made it a point to sit in the window and blow the smoke out of the flat so that their landlady wouldn’t smell the offensive odor.

“I don’t care.” Victor said as he lit another cigarette. He took a long draw on the cigarette and slowly exhaled. A plume of white smoke circled over the omega’s head. “I have a date tonight.”

“Archibald?” Sherlock hated Victor’s intended and said the man’s name like it was foul tasting.

“No . . .” Victor smiled mischievously.

Sherlock hesitated and looked at his friend. Victor was supposed to bond with Archibald Rampant within three months. The invitations for the formal wedding had already been sent out. The nauseating alpha had been over numerous times already to verify that his future omega was behaving himself.

“No? What do you mean?” Sherlock twisted and glanced out the flat door expecting to see Rampant standing there watching the two of them.

“I met him at the museum. He was there for some charity event.” Victor sat up excited.

“You met who?” Sherlock asked again.

His eyes moved over Victor’s body. His friend’s eyes were slightly bloodshot and swollen. His hand a mild tremor. It was obvious that Victor had been out the night before. He had been with someone other than his intended alpha. Victor hadn’t taken a shower and Sherlock could detect the scent of a strange alpha.

“Did he supply you with the cocaine?” Sherlock asked.

Victor pouted. “Jealous?”

“No. Who is he?”

“I can’t tell, but we are going to get together again tonight.” Victor said excited.

“Not that I’m not happy for you and feel you are responsible enough to make your own choices, but what about Archibald?” Sherlock asked.

“What about him?” Victor flounced back down on the couch.

“He may be an idiot but so are you. He will undoubtedly learn of your infidelity.”

“Good, then I will be rid of him. Maybe I will be rid of my meddlesome family too. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? The two of us free and on our own!”

Sherlock glared at his flat-mate. The only reason Sherlock was allowed to live in London on his own was because he had assured Mycroft and his mother, that Victor was trustworthy. The real reason Sherlock had agreed to allow Victor to live with him was that Victor was good at giving the appearance of being a respectable omega. He would lie convincingly for Sherlock whenever necessary. He would tell everyone that he and Sherlock spent a quiet evening at home while Sherlock was out roaming the city, solving mysteries.

The truth of the matter was Victor was tedious. If Sherlock really had his way, then the lazy omega would be confined in his family home and Sherlock would be living by himself in the flat on Baker Street. As it stood, the other omega had not yet done anything towards achieving his independence other than becoming promiscuous. He had not looked for employment or sought out an income. Not saying Sherlock had actually looked for one either, but his investigation had brought in money from grateful clients.

Victor took another long drag on the cigarette before speaking. “Oh, by the way . . . your brother, ‘Fatcroft’ was here with his goons. They searched your bedroom and the flat.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _‘Of course Mycroft had searched his bedroom,’_ he thought. He knew the box would be too great a temptation for Mycroft to pass up. Sherlock quickly turned towards his bedroom and walked down the hall. The conversation with Victor all but forgotten. He opened the door and found the room immaculate. At least this time, Mycroft’s agents hadn’t enjoyed destroying Sherlock’s belongings.

He glanced around the room but nothing seemed out of place. He bent over and looked at the floor under the bed. The dust had definitely been disturbed. Tracks of someone crawling under the bed were obvious. He didn’t even check to see if the box was missing. He knew it would be. He also knew that Mycroft would be furious that photos of him as a child were secreted away inside the box. One in particular would make his interfering brother boil with rage. The photo of the family picnic where Mycroft was shoving a large slice of lemon iced cake into his gapping maw.

Sherlock glanced around the room. Mycroft had promised he wouldn’t place cameras in the flat but Sherlock didn’t believe him. He checked the corners of the room and the edges of the furniture. He felt under everything in the room that could conceal a listening device. And when he found nothing, Sherlock felt slightly annoyed that his brother had been honest with him.

Sherlock went to the poster of the periodic table that was tacked to the wall. The pushpins had not been moved. He carefully removed one pin and looked behind the poster. The torn wallpaper was as he had left it. He lifted the wallpaper and pressed on side of the wooden slat. The slat moved and revealed a small hole in the wall. Inside was Sherlock’s stash of drugs. Not even Victor knew of this hiding place. Sherlock quickly replaced the slat and lowered the poster back into place. Smoothing the paper down. He carefully replaced the pushpin into the exact same hole. Even under careful examination, it wouldn’t look like it had been moved since Sherlock had put the poster up.

He smiled to himself. It had been several days since Sherlock had felt the need to get high. His investigations had kept his mind busy. And the mystery of John Watson had added to his sobriety.

Sherlock walked out of the bedroom and saw the file Mycroft had given him. The file with Captain John Watson’s name on it. He pouted again. His finger grazed over the top cover. All he had to do was open the file and start to read about the man who was now floating through Sherlock’s subconscious. His thumb and forefinger closed over the corner of the file, ready to lift it when he stopped.

 _‘No, I will do this myself.’_ He said to himself and turned to leave the flat again.

Sherlock paused on the pavement as he tied his blue scarf around his neck. The black saloon pulled up to the kerb and waited. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he marched forward and opened the back door. He didn’t look at the passenger as he got into the backseat.

“I’ve told you to leave my belongings alone. You have only yourself to blame for any embarrassment.” Sherlock said as he slammed the door. He slouched on the seat like a petulant teenager.

The car immediately pulled away from the kerb and blended into the traffic.

“Embarrassment is a waste of time and effort. If you are ashamed of your behavior then you shouldn’t have even considered the action.” The voice was thick with a Scandinavian accent.

Sherlock turned quickly to see that the passenger was not his brother but a tall thin man with dark lifeless eyes.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked. He straightened himself to his full height. He could tell the man was an alpha immediately. He also knew the man was wealthy. The car was not a rental. The man’s suit was bespoke. His hands were manicured and his shoes were custom Italian leather.

“Charles Augustus Magnussen. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sherlock.” The man spoke as he reached out and took Sherlock’s hand between his own.

Magnussen held Sherlock’s hand in his palm as his other hand slowly dragged over the fine bones and pale skin. Sherlock felt an immediate revulsion and tried to pull his hand back but Magnussen wouldn’t relent.

Sherlock knew who the alpha was upon hearing the name. Sherlock considered the enigmatic Charles Augustus Magnussen as one of the most repulsive and dangerous men living in Great Britain. He was a blackmailer. And not just an ordinary blackmail but someone who enjoyed destroying lives. Money was not the only driving force behind the blackmailing. Power and domination. Searching out the details of the personal lives of important people and manipulating them for his own needs. He used the information he gained to force them to surrender to his will.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked bluntly. He tugged slightly on his scarf to loosen it from around his neck. Fear and anxiety were churning through him but Sherlock was not going to let the alpha know that.

“I just wanted to introduce myself to you.” Magnussen purred.

“Is there a pertinent reason for us to become acquainted?” Sherlock asked.

“I have been admiring you from a far for some time now. I thought it was time we meet.”

“Alright, we have met. Now why have you kidnapped me?”

“Kidnap is an ugly word.” Magnussen smiled. Sherlock was taken aback on how much Magnussen’s face reminded him of a reptile.

“As ugly as blackmail?”

“I’m sure I do not know what you are talking about. But please keep speaking. Your voice is so . . . alluring.” Magnussen leaned closer to the omega.

Sherlock refused to be intimidated. He remained still.

“Charles Augustus Magnussen. Publisher of fourteen different newspapers throughout Europe as well as a streaming news network on the web. Released personal information about numerous officials and prominent people resulting in their disgrace and departure from public life.”

Magnussen looked down, smirking. “There is that silly emotion embarrassment again. Such a waste of effort. If they had only done as they were asked they could have saved themselves. Secrets, so many secrets. Do you have any, my lovely?”

“I sincerely doubt I would be sharing them with you.” Sherlock said dismissively as he glanced out the window at passing buildings.

In the back of his mind, Sherlock rushed to find a reason why Magnussen would have kidnapped him. He wasn’t seen getting into the car by anyone. And even if he was, it would appear Sherlock did so under his own volition. No reason for someone to call the police. No one would have thought to.

 _‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’_ Sherlock chastised himself.

“Not even your very bad habit involving a needle and syringe?” Magnussen asked.

Sherlock’s head snapped rapidly back to stare at the man. “I assure you, my former drug use is well known by my family . . .”

“I am sure. Your brother has been very thorough in making sure that your little indiscretion didn’t become public knowledge. Your brother cares for you deeply.”

“So he professes, but one has his doubts.” Sherlock said wondering how the conversation turned so quickly to Mycroft.

“With your father dead, your brother, Mycroft Holmes, is your pack alpha, is he not?”

“Again he professes to be, but . . .”

“Has he found you a responsible alpha to bond with?” Magnussen asked.

Sherlock felt a wave of revulsion slam into him.

“I have repeatedly informed my family I will not entertain the thought of a bonding.” Sherlock’s hand slipped around the door handle of the car.

Magnussen’s eyes fell on the movement of Sherlock’s hand. He smiled again.

“Every omega needs an alpha. How else will you fulfill your existence? No omega is happy until they are bonded, bedded and pregnant.”

“Having never been an omega, I can understand why you would believe something so completely erroneous and insulting. But you are completely wrong. I do not need nor want an alpha.”

“It is a good thing that decisions like that are taken away from foolish and immature omegas. You will believe differently once you have felt my touch.”

“That will never . . .”

Before Sherlock could say another word, Magnussen was on him. He pushed the omega into the corner of the back seat. Grabbing Sherlock’s wrists, he pinned them to the leather seats. His mouth crashed into Sherlock’s. His tongue forced its way into the younger man’s mouth.

Sherlock coughed and twisted as he tried to fight the alpha off. The frail looking alpha was stronger than he appeared. He held Sherlock captive as he assaulted the omega’s mouth again. Fear and revulsion flooded Sherlock’s mind. He bit down on the man’s tongue. Magnussen pulled back and slapped Sherlock’s face hard.

Stunned, Sherlock stared at the man, then Magnussen grinned as he leaned forward and licked up the side of Sherlock’s face. Over his heated cheek and to the corner of his eye. Sherlock shivered in disgust.

Magnussen’s free hand reached down and started to grope at the young man’s groin. Squeezing the flaccid flesh there until Sherlock cried out in pain. Magnussen laughed cruelly. Then he molested Sherlock’s mouth again; biting and dragging his teeth over Sherlock’s lips.

The pain was sharp. Sherlock tasted the something metallic on the tip of his tongue. He pulled away and wiped at his lips. His fingertips were red. Blood. Magnussen had bit Sherlock’s lip.

Magnussen leaned back and laughed again. Sherlock’s normal arrogant expression was replaced with fear. Magnussen let go of Sherlock’s other wrist and the omega quickly pulled on the door handle, but the door didn’t open. Magnussen laughed louder.

“You will be perfect. I see us bonding in two weeks-time. No reason to wait.”

“Mycroft won’t allow it.” Sherlock sputtered.

“He will be eager to hand you over to me. All that needs to be settled is the dowry. I won’t be taking a bond without compensation.” Magnussen said as he pulled out his phone and started to scroll through it.

“There is not enough money in the world that you could pay him to agree to bond you to the Holmes.” Sherlock said believing his brother would surly stop this madness.

“No, no, no, my little one. How much Mycroft is going to pay me to bond with you? I am the only one who makes demands here. The rest of you will do as you are told . . . or else.” The odious smile slipped from Magnussen’s face.

Magnussen waited for Sherlock to ask the obvious question but the young man knew better than to ask. He leaned back further away from the repugnant alpha.

“Let me go.”

The smile returned. “This time.”

Magnussen looked at the rearview mirror. The driver’s eyes were staring back at him. Magnussen nodded and the car pulled over to the side of the road. Sherlock jumped out of the car. He rushed as far from the car as he could before he stopped. He turned and watched as the black saloon drove away. Sherlock’s heart still pounding in his chest.


	10. The Bird and the Bees Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has to explain the basics to Sherlock.

John’s hands were shoved into his coat pockets when he walked into the café. It wasn’t cold but it was the only thing he could do with his hands. They wanted to be holding a gun right now. It had taken over half an hour for the taxi to drive through London traffic to get here after he had received Sherlock’s frightened call.

_“John, I need to you,”_ was all the omega said. John asked where he was and Sherlock gave the name of a café near Paddington station.

John’s eyes scanned over the faces of the customers. He finally saw Sherlock sitting in the very back at a table near the kitchen. The young man’s shoulders were slumped and his head was lowered. Sherlock looked shorter by at least five inches. John would have overlooked him if it hadn’t been for the great black coat and the iridescent eyes watching him from under black curly fringe.

John marched across the room. He paused before sitting down, looking at Sherlock’s appearance. Sherlock’s lower lip was swollen. The trace of blood could be seen at the corner. The left side of the young man’s face was red and slightly puffy.

“Who did this?” John asked as he sat down.

“I need to ask you a medical question?” Sherlock asked, ignoring John’s question.

“Alright, ask.” John’s alpha instincts were heightened. He wanted to know how Sherlock had been hurt, but the fear he saw in the young man’s eyes forced John to listen calmly. It had been a while since John’s medical training was more important than his skills as a soldier.

Sherlock glanced around them, then leaned closer. “It’s a question about bonding.”

John’s brow furrowed. “Sherlock were you . . . assaulted?”

The soldier’s eyes moved instantly to Sherlock’s neck. The column of white flesh appeared unmarred. Relief seemed to lighten the weight John had on his shoulders.

“I was . . . bitten by . . . an alpha.” Sherlock struggled to get the words out.

“Where?” John asked.

Sherlock raised his hand to his mouth. His fingers lightly dragged over his abused lip. “Here.”

John gave a weak smile. “That’s not how one bonds.”

“Oh, but I bled into his mouth. His saliva?” Sherlock seemed confused.

“I can’t believe I’m having to explain this to you.” John said shaking his head.

“Just tell me!”

“Bonding takes place during intercourse. When an alpha bites the scent gland of the omega and releases the bonding hormone, vinculumatin. The hormone works in concert with other chemicals released during sex to stimulate the anterior pituitary and the frontal lobes of the omega brain. While the alpha tastes both the hormone and the omega’s blood, imprinting it.”

“Only the release of this hormone will cause a bonding?” Sherlock asked. John could see the young man’s brain spinning rapidly at the information.

“Yes. The scent gland is the only location of the vinculumatin and the ‘heat’ pheromone production. An omega will produce vinculumatin until menopause, but it is only released by manual manipulation of the scent gland.” John said remembering the text of his omega biology books.

“So, I couldn’t be bonded to an alpha who just bit my lip?” Sherlock’s eyes looked hopefully at John.

“No. Is that what happened. Someone you were kissing bit you?” John felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him. He wondered who this alpha was that had bit Sherlock. “Did he hit you too? Did he slap your face?”

“I won’t become uncontrollably attracted to this man? I won’t have to . . . sleep with him?”

“No, you won’t. Sherlock, tell me what happened? Who hit you?” John was getting frustrated with the younger man.

“You are sure?”

“Absolutely. Didn’t you get any sex education growing up?” John asked.

“Deleted it.”

“Deleted?”

“I wasn’t going to need it, so I deleted it.”

“Sherlock, you can’t delete things like this. They’re basic knowledge. You must know them.” John was confounded by the omega. “What did you think was going to happen when you bonded with your alpha?”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. “Not going to happen.”

“Not going to happen? You don’t want an alpha?”

“Why would I want an alpha? They are arrogant, misogynistic, narcissistic bullies!” Sherlock snapped.

John dipped his chin and glared at the younger man. Sherlock caught the look and glanced away, waving his hand.

“You understand what I mean.”

“Being an alpha, no, I do not.” John said. He leaned forward. “You really don’t want to be bonded? You don’t want an alpha?” Stunned, John asked, “Do you like omegas better? Which is fine by the way.” John remembered that Sherlock lived with another omega.

“I know its fine.” Sherlock said staring at John. There was something accusing in his tone.

“So you and your flat-mate are . . .”

“No.”

“Fine. So you’re unattached. Like me.” John said leaning back in his seat. He didn’t want to acknowledge the sense of relief that information gave him. Instead, he glanced around. He stood up and went to the counter to order two coffees.

When John came back to the table, Sherlock seemed apprehensive. “John . . . ah, while I consider myself married to my work, I am flattered by your . . .”

“No, Sherlock. I’m not looking for a mate either. So, don’t even go there.” John set the coffee mugs down before sitting. “I was just wondering about you. And everything is . . . fine.”

The two men stared at each other for a few more minutes, then Sherlock reached out and took one of the mugs. He winced when he took a sip. His fingers reaching for his damaged lip.

“So are you going to tell me who did that?” John asked as he sipped his own coffee. Various scenarios of John ripping the other alpha’s throat out came to him. He wondered where he could hide the body.

“Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

“Should I know that name?”

“No, I don’t believe you should. You are an honest man, John. Not someone who would be afraid of the police or discovery.” Sherlock said as he added sugar to his coffee. He slowly took another sip.

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Who is he?”

“A repugnant individual who lives on the misfortunes of others. A leach. A vampire that needs to be destroyed.”

“A vampire? You are joking?”

“Only just.”

~^+^~

Victor Trevor pulled his royal blue cashmere jumper on over the pale pink shirt. He liked the combination. The pink shirt made his skin rosier and the jumper brought out the blue of his eyes. He lightly dabbed cologne behind his ears and some on his wrists. Finishing up with a light application of shiny lip gloss to his plumb lower lip, Victor looked at himself in the mirror. He smiled.

He was skipping down the stairs as Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat.

“Victor, darling, where are you off to tonight? Off to see your intended?” The older woman asked.

“No, darling.” Victor stepped over to the older woman and gave her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. “I’m off to have fun.”

Victor waved his scarf at Mrs. Hudson and continued to skip out of the flat. He walked down to Maryborne and waved a taxi down. The black cab pulled over to the kerb and the omega climbed into the back seat.

“The Backdoor Club, Soho,” Victor told the driver.

Victor was going to meet his date from the previous night at the club. The alpha told Victor he would be looking for him. The man wasn’t really his type, but the alpha did have an abundance of cocaine. And Victor could deal with the dark haired alpha with the pudgy blonde shadow for several lines of the stuff.

~^+^~

The morning following the reception, Mycroft Holmes was busy in his office when his assistant knocked on the door before entering. Mycroft glanced up then returned his attention to the file in front of him.

“Do we have any intel yet from Cambodia?”

“No, sir, but that is not why I’ve bothered you.” Anthea said hesitantly.

Mycroft glanced up. His lips pulled down in a slight pout. He hated being disturbed and Anthea knew it. She would only bother him unless it was an emergency.

“There is someone here to see you, sir. He doesn’t have an appointment.” The beta woman said quickly before her boss asked the obvious. “He is insistent and refuses to schedule for later. He also refuses to tell me why he insists on seeing you.”

“Call security and have him removed.” Mycroft said dismissively and returned his attention to his file.

“Sir, I don’t believe that would be . . . in your best interest.” Anthea chose the words carefully.

Mycroft glanced up. His usually unflappable assistant was sweating. Her skin was flushed and her eyes wide in fear.

“My best interest?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Who is this individual?”

Mycroft was expecting the woman to name a royal or someone from the PM’s office. Instead, Anthea stepped closer to Mycroft’s desk and placed a calling card on the blotter in front of the alpha. Her fear to say the actual name was apparent.

Mycroft picked up the card and read the name. ‘ _Charles Augustus Magnussen’._ Both of Mycroft’s eyebrows retreated into his hairline. He wondered what the odious man would want to see him about.

“Send him in, Anthea.”

Mycroft closed any open files on his desk and slipped them into the drawer. Closing and locking the drawer as his guest walked in. Mycroft rose but refused to shake the man’s hand.

“Mister Holmes,” Magnussen’s voice oozed as he sat down, unfazed by the refusal of his handshake.

“I may only hold a minor position in the government, but I am a very busy man. Please be brief, Mister Magnussen.”

The man smiled at Mycroft. “Only a minor position, yet one of great responsibility.”

Mycroft remained silent as he waited for Magnussen to proceed.

“A position that is responsible for the safety of England.”

“All citizens of this nation are responsible for her safety.” Mycroft said. His mind was spinning trying to anticipate the direction of the conversation.

“But not every citizen is responsible for maintaining the security of her secrets. So many secrets.” Magnussen droned on. Mycroft waited. “Secrets that if her enemies learned about, could easily compromise that safety.”

“ _Mister_ Magnussen, I must ask you to get to the point of our meeting.”

“Secrets about her defense.” Magnussen continued as if he hadn’t heard Mycroft. “Secrets lost by murder.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. Defense analyst Andrew West had been murdered a week before. His head had been bashed in and his lifeless body had been left on the train tracks. He was suspected of stealing a copy of the Bruce-Partington Plans for a new missile defense for England and NATO. Mycroft had been searching for those plans since the death of the analyst without any success.

If the information had gotten out that Mycroft had allowed the plans to fall into the hands of the England’s enemies, his career would over. No one in the government would trust him again. His influence in the government would be taken away from him. He would be disgraced and emasculated.

Mycroft felt his mouth dry. He coughed weakly and tried to clear his throat.

“As I said before . . . it is the responsibility of every citizen of this nation to protect it.” Mycroft tried to draw himself up to appear more formidable in his chair.

“True, but I am not a citizen of Great Britain.” Magnussen smiled. “I consider myself a citizen of the world. Obligated to no one, but myself.”

“Obligated or pandered to?”

“Is there a difference?”

“ _Mister_ Magnussen, I feel there is a reason for your request to see me. Please . . . _get_ to the point.”

“I wish to speak to you of Sherlock.”

Mycroft glanced dubiously at the other alpha. “Yes, what about my brother.”

“I believe he is not yet betrothed. Or so he has informed me.”

“Sherlock has spoken to you . . . personally?”

“Yes. I find him quite, adequate, as a mate. I wish for you to announce our bonding.”

Anger and revulsion flooded Mycroft’s brain. “There is nothing in the world that would induce me to do so.” Mycroft snapped angrily.

“But it is your brother’s wish.” Magnussen said calmly ignoring Mycroft’s tone. “Don’t you wish to make your brother happy?”

“I worry about my brother constantly. I would do anything in the world to keep him safe. Therefore I will refuse to allow any consideration of a bonding between you and my brother, Sherlock.”

“But he is so . . . infatuated with me.” Magnussen’s smile was ominous.

“You have spoken to Sherlock?” Mycroft had placed surveillance on Sherlock. He had never been informed that Sherlock was meeting someone as dangerous as Magnussen.

“I do not wish to sully the omega’s reputation but we have done more than just talked. Your brother is very . . . appreciative of my . . . touch.” Magnussen feigned embarrassment.

Mycroft blushed red with anger. ‘ _This reptilian alpha had been with Sherlock!’_ he thought. _‘Sherlock allowed this monster to . . .’_ the idea was too hideous to consider. Mycroft physically shook it away.

“Even if that is true. I still refuse to allow it.” Mycroft said firmly.

“Sherlock said you would refuse. Therefore I will make sure you won’t have the power to refuse our request.” Magnussen reached into his pocket and removed the thumb-drive Moriarty had given him.

Mycroft recognized the memory stick immediately. It was the same as the one the Bruce-Partington Plans had been on.

“Before you ask, yes, this is the original memory stick. It is in my possession . . . for the time being.” Magnussen said. “It will stay in my possession unless you persist in refusing your brother’s and my happiness.”

“What will you do with it?” Mycroft asked. His voice losing some of its vigor.

“I will happily sell it to the highest bidder. That of course could be any one of a dozen nations, including Great Britain. But you would have to explain to your handlers how you lost the memory stick in the first place and why you haven’t informed them of the lost.”

Mycroft sat in his chair. His eyes fixed on the thin thumb-drive in the blackmailer’s hand.

“Will you give me time to consider?”

“I will give you three days before the formal announcement is made. I mean, you must inform my future mother-in-law of the happy news. Also you will ignore any rebuttals from Sherlock.”

“You lied. He does not wish to bond with you.” Mycroft said softly. He rebuked himself for doubting Sherlock.

“He is only an omega. Stupid and weak. He needs to be trained. Educated in the ways to please his betters.”

“And you believe you are his better and able to give him that training?” Mycroft felt physically sick. He needed to vomit.

“But of course.” Magnussen smiled. He stood up and turned to leave. He hesitated by the door. “It will be a simple affair. Only immediate family at the ceremony. Then, Sherlock and I will leave on a month long honeymoon in the Far East. I think two weeks will give you enough time to arrange the wedding. Also, I expect a dowry of five million pounds to be transferred into my accounts when you make the formal announcement.”

“Five million?”

“Yes, for now.”

Magnussen left. Mycroft sat perfectly still at his desk. He had less than a week to figure out how he could rescue Sherlock from this mad man.


	11. Detective Inspector Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Greg Lestrade and learns something about Sherlock.

John decided he couldn’t stay away any longer. John’s mind kept going back to the omega. He kept thinking about how good Sherlock smelled. The way the omega’s eyes seemed to draw John in. How much he wanted to kiss the man again. Wondering what the omega would look like in the throes of passion.

It had been a three days since he had met with Sherlock at the café. John had asked repeatedly why Magnussen had slapped Sherlock but the omega wouldn’t tell him. Sherlock only cared that he wasn’t bonded and repeated he never wanted to be bonded. John didn’t want to examine why that information bothered him but it did.

He walked up Baker Street wondering how he was going to convince the omega to go out to lunch with him. He just wanted to spend time with Sherlock. The strange omega interesting and intriguing. The look of surprise on Sherlock’s face when John had teased him about ‘the next date’ had been wonderful. The feeling that John could actually do something that the brilliant omega hadn’t anticipated was exhilarating. John wanted to do it again.

He pressed the doorbell for 221B. The doorbell chimed and the older woman answered the door again.

“Oh, John! Hello, please go on up. Sherlock will be ever so happy to see you again.” Mrs. Hudson teetered.

“Thank you,” John smiled as he spoke.

He took the stairs two at a time. Sherlock’s warm rich scent was wafting down the stairs and inviting John closer. He found the flat door open when he reached the top stair.

“Sherlock? I’m home!” he teased as he walked into the flat.

Sherlock looked up surprised to see John walking into his flat as if the man lived there. A slight blush came to his pale cheeks. Standing behind Sherlock and leaning over his shoulder was Detective Inspector Lestrade. Both men had been looking at a photo in Sherlock’s hands.

“John!” Sherlock inhaled.

Lestrade glanced up. His face suddenly turned stern as he looked at the arriving alpha.

“Who are you?” Asked the police officer.

“Ah, John Watson. I’m a . . .”

John and Sherlock spoke simultaneously. “Associate,” “Friend.”

Lestrade glanced back and forth between the two men. The discrepancy was noted.

John could see the crestfallen look on Sherlock’s face as he said friend while John had only said associate. He hesitated but took another step further into the flat.

“Doctor John Watson. He’s been helping me with several inquiries.” Sherlock said slightly deflated.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson didn’t tell me you had company. I’ll leave.”

“No . . . no reason to leave.” Sherlock said quickly. “This won’t take long.”

Lestrade huffed and leaned back over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“It’s been weeks, Sherlock, and we don’t have a single clue yet as to who is responsible for it.” Lestrade growled.

“What is it?” John asked as he stepped forward, eager to see the file. The thrill of helping Sherlock on another case began to buzz through his veins.

“An armed robbery. An armored car robbed of diamonds.” Lestrade said.

Sherlock saw a slight flush come to John’s face, before it just as quickly seemed to disappear. John took a hesitant step back. Sherlock returned his attention to the file in front of him. He picked up a report and started reading through it.

“Anderson did forensics?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, he didn’t find anything.” Lestrade answered the omega.

“He wouldn’t. He’s an idiot.” Sherlock held up a photo. “Look here. See this burn pattern on the paint. Thermite. Military grade. These were highly trained individuals. And look at how it was planned out. Military precision. Everything down to the second. They knew what they were doing. They controlled the guards completely. They controlled the scene. No one in or out while they worked. They were accustom to handling explosives and weapons. Knew how to limit movement of civilians without issue.”

“Are you saying they were solders?”

“Probably.” Sherlock said. He picked another photograph and looked at it. “Any other photos?”

“We can’t be sure but this was taken by CCTV outside of a Tesco. It looks like the car that was used in the robbery but we don’t have a good look at the plates. It could be just a similar car that drove by at the same time as the crooks.”

Sherlock looked at the photo. The driver was not visible but the passenger was. He was an older man with his face partially turned towards the camera. A three-quarter view. He was auburn haired and the burns on the left side of his face were barely visible. Sherlock knew the face. He had seen it in the tunnel the night he had rescued John and his friend from the Black Lotus.

Sherlock looked at the driver again. The man’s upper body was not visible but Sherlock could see the wristwatch on the driver’s right wrist. An indication the driver was left handed. Sherlock glanced over at John. The soldier’s face was stoic, unreadable. Hardened as if preparing himself for an attack. He stared back at Sherlock. Sherlock saw the same wristwatch on John’s right wrist.

“They are professionals.” Sherlock said. Then coughed. He put the photo of the car with John and James down. “These two are not involved, but I know who is.”

“WHO IS IT?” Lestrade shouted.

“They are Canadian. Professional thieves. They are hired out to do jobs for others. They mostly work in Canada and United States. Rarely in Europe but they have started to increase their presence in France. You remember the Banque Populaire robbery six months ago?”

“Yes, they got away with two million euros in gold coins.” Lestrade looked down at Sherlock’s up turned face.

“Gold coins, diamonds, all the same to this crew. You won’t catch them unless you have advanced knowledge of a heist. They are very good.” Sherlock said as he glanced over at John.

John’s face was still unreadable.

“Are you sure?” Lestrade asked. He was reaching for his phone.

“Of course. Don’t look for anyone traveling here from Canada. They would have entered in through another country then returned before traveling back to Canada. They are gone now. Won’t be back for a while.” Sherlock said as he pulled his attention away from John.

“So, it’s gone cold?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes, you should have brought this to me sooner.” Sherlock said dismissively.

“Names? How many are there? Anything?” Lestrade was texting as he spoke.

“No, nothing other than you won’t catch them after the fact. You will have to file this case under unsolved until the next time they strike.” Sherlock paused and glanced sideways towards John. “If they strike again.”

Lestrade started to gather the photos and investigation reports together and slip them into the file covers. “Thanks, I guess. At least I know I shouldn’t lose any sleep over this one.”

Lestrade switched files to his left hand. He stepped closer to John and held out his right hand.

“Nice meeting you, Doctor Watson.”

John shook Lestrade’s hand. The detective inspector gripped the soldier’s hand tighter and twisted their hands as he noticed the watch on the right wrist. Lestrade pressed his lips together tightly and wrinkled his brow. John saw Lestrade’s attention at his wrist. He quickly twisted their hands back to a normal position and gave the man one good solid shake.

“Yes, nice to meet a friend of Sherlock’s.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say friend.” Lestrade smiled as he released John’s hand.

The soldier shoved his hands back into the pockets of his jacket as he stared blankly at the police officer.

“You have your solution, Lestrade. Off you go. John and I are . . . busy.” Sherlock picked up Lestrade’s coat and handed it to the man. He practically pushed the man out of his flat.

“Alright, alright, no reason to shove.” Lestrade said and he started down the stairs.

Sherlock turned back and looked at John. The two men stared at each other silently. Sherlock was the first to break the stare. He glanced around his flat and then went over to clear off the chair for John to sit in.

“Like I told him, no reason to keep looking for the thieves. They will probably never commit another crime in London again.” Sherlock refused to look at John.

John watched Sherlock then glanced out the open door expecting to see Lestrade hovering on the stairs listening. He wasn’t there, but that didn’t relive the concern John was feeling.

“I should go.” John said.

“NO.” Sherlock spun quickly and started to rush towards John.

John held his hand up to stop Sherlock. “No, it really would be . . .”

They both spoke at the same time again. “Better.” “Safer?”

John shifted on his feet. Taking a more defensive stance. “Safer? Is there something I should be worried about, Sherlock?”

“No . . . I wouldn’t. I mean, there is nothing that would make anyone think that you . . . there isn’t is there . . . anything that would lead the police to you and your friend?”

“Sherlock, I don’t know what you are talking about.” John said softly, there was an iron intensity to his words.

“John, I haven’t said a word. I wouldn’t. I would never say anything.” Sherlock hated how he sounded like he was pleading. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from saying anything else.

“Sherlock. I just came by to tell you that . . . I’m leaving. James and I will be going away. You will need to keep yourself out of trouble now.” It was a lie but John knew it was too dangerous to associate with a man who was so closely linked to the police.

“You’re leaving? Of course.” Sherlock forced his voice to sound neutral and indifferent. It wasn’t like it was the first time anyone had left him. “You needn’t worry about me, doctor. In fact, I believe it was you who needed to be rescued last time.”

John noticed the sour notes blending into Sherlock’s normal scent. The omega was upset. John felt an instinctual need to comfort the omega but his military training told him to remain distant.

“Yes, about that . . .” John’s memory suddenly flashed back to the look on Sherlock’s face when he mentioned their ‘next date’. “Thank you . . . for helping us, James and me.”

“Think nothing of it. Surely I don’t.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “Good day, John. I really must be getting back to an experiment. I believe you know your way out.” Sherlock walked to the back of flat without looking at the soldier again.

John hesitated. He struggled against his alpha nature to protect and claim. He wanted to tell Sherlock he lied. He wanted to tell the man that he didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t. John was a criminal and he couldn’t associate with an omega working with the police. He couldn’t trust Sherlock. He couldn’t rely on an omega.

He waited to see if he could think of any other solutions as he watched Sherlock disappear into a back room. He couldn’t see any other reasonable resolution, but he still hesitated. Then he heard a door slam shut. The bang was as loud like a gunshot. John zipped up his jacket and walked down the stairs and out of 221.

Standing on the pavement under the red awning for ‘Speedie’s Café’ was Detective Inspector Lestrade. He was smoking a cigarette. The file of the armored car robbery still tucked under his arm. The policeman didn’t say anything but it was apparent he had been waiting for John.

“That is a dangerous habit.” John said casually as he stepped over to the detective.

“So is working with Sherlock Holmes, but I don’t think it would be in my best interest to stop.” Lestrade dropped the half smoke cigarette on the pavement and rubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. “Com’ on in. We need to talk.”

Lestrade turned and walked into the small café. He didn’t even wait to see if the man was following him. John glanced up and down the street. He didn’t see any police vehicles approaching. If Lestrade suspected him of the robbery, John thought he would at least have backup before trying to arrest him. John concentrated on the weight of the gun at the small of his back. It normally felt comforting but now it was a burden. If he was arrested and the gun was found on him, there would be no way to explain it. If he refused to follow the police officer and speak to him, then he would give the man reason to believe he was involved in the robbery.

John took a deep breath and cursed the night he met Sherlock Holmes.

He followed Lestrade into the café and sat down at the small table across from Lestrade. The policeman already had a cup of coffee in front of him. He was warming his hands around the white porcelain.

“I’ve known Sherlock since he was fifteen.” Lestrade said almost off handed.

John blinked. He wasn’t sure why that information was important, but he didn’t choose to argue with the policeman.

“I had just been promoted to detective. My first call out for an unexplained death. Looked like a simple drowning. Nothing suspicious . . . then this kid comes bounding in and claims it’s a murder.” Lestrade finally looks up from his coffee cup and right at John. “He was high as a kite. I threw him in the back of a patrol car and called his family. His brother showed up. Poncy bastard. He took Sherlock away and I tried to not think anything more about it.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“There was something about what he was going on about. Something about missing shoes. Well, I kept looking and looking. Found out the victim’s trainers were missing as well as his eczema medication. Not the usual stuff someone would pinch. Found the tube of medication in the rubbish outside the swimming pool. It had been tampered with. Poison. It was the kid’s coach. They had been having an inappropriate relationship and kid was going to tell his parents. Coach killed him instead of facing the consequences of sleeping with one of his students. The case put me on the fast track for advancement.”

“And Sherlock was only fifteen when he figured it out?” John asked surprised. “That’s amazing.”

“Fifteen and intoxicated. I never told him he was right.” Lestrade took a sip of his coffee as he stared at John. “The next time I saw Sherlock was when he was seventeen. I was on a stake out and some junkie decide to walk right into the front of the car I was sitting in. Vomited all over the bonnet. I got out and was ready to roust the bugger when I recognized him. It was Sherlock. He was thinner and in worse shape than the last time I had seen him. Apparently, he had run away from home after I called his brother two years earlier. I abandoned my stakeout and took him to the A&E. He coded twice that night.”

John felt sick. The realization that Sherlock had almost died before he even had the chance to meet the crazy man was pressing down heavily on the soldier.

“Did you call his brother again?” John asked. He could feel anger at the other Holmes.

“No. I stayed with Sherlock until they stabilized him. Set him up in a detox unit at St. Bart’s. Went to visit him for the first week, then his family found him again. They whisked him off to some fancy private rehab place in Sussex. Took me three months to find him again but I wasn’t going to leave him alone with them.”

“You didn’t trust his family?” John asked. He had to admit he wasn’t overly impressed with the Holmes at that moment either. It was obvious that Sherlock was brilliant. Why had they let someone as intelligent and unique as Sherlock get involved with drugs or run away for so long?

“If you ever met the brother you would understand too. Besides, I felt like I owed the kid something. I used my credentials the first time to get in to see him. He looked like shit. He was down to less than nine stone. His clothes just hung on him and his skin was tight over his skeleton. He was chain smoking.”

John listened but struggled to not react to the description. He swallowed a growl that was building inside of himself.

“After the first visit, his brother told me not to come back, but the doctors informed the family that Sherlock had improved after we had talked.” Lestrade said.

“What did you talked about?” John wondered out loud.

“I told him about cases I was working on.”

“Cases?”

“Yes, just cases. Nothing special. So, the doctors told the family I should be allowed to visit. And I did. I brought cold case files for him to read through. He seemed to devour them like . . .” Lestrade tried to find a good description.

“Like a junkie getting a hit?” John offered.

Lestrade glanced up into the other man’s face then gave a sardonic smile. “Yeah, like a junkie. He solved half of them before he finish reading the files. The others took longer. He started eating again. And putting on weight. Smoked less. After seven months the doctors pronounced him cured.”

“You’re never cured of an addiction.” John corrected Lestrade.

“I know.” Lestrade leaned back in his chair and gave John a dissecting look. “I’m very protective of Sherlock. And not just because he is an omega. I would be very upset if anyone ever hurt him . . . on purpose or not.”

John said nothing.

“I can tell when he is getting in over his head and I think he is getting there with you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” John replied. The ‘ _you better be good to him or else_ ’ speech was not what John was expecting.

“Sherlock is not like other omegas. Honestly, he’s not like anyone else I know. He doesn’t understand . . . normal relationships. Alpha-omega relationships.”

John waited.

“He doesn’t have friends. Let alone alpha friends.”

John wanted to disagree. “I didn’t say I was his friend.”

“But he called you his friend. Who are you? What do you want from Sherlock Holmes?” There it was. The implied threat in the simple question.

“I don’t want anything from Sherlock. We are just acquaintances.”

“Does he know that?” Lestrade asked. “Are you getting his expectation up?”

“I . . . You do not need to worry about Sherlock and me. I have no plans on seeing the omega again.” John felt a sudden stab to his chest.

Lestrade kept staring at the soldier as he brought his coffee mug up to lips and took another sip. He set it down on the table and used a serviette to wipe his mouth.

“I think we can all agree that would be best.” Lestrade said as he stood up. “I would hate to have to run a background check on a doctor.”

“I get the distinct impression you don’t like doctors.” John said as he stood.

“They’ve got their place.” Lestrade shrugged. “Good day, Doctor Watson.”

“Detective Inspector.”

Neither man offered a hand to shake. John simple turned and walked out of the café. He could feel the stare of the other man on the back of his neck as he left. John turned and walked south towards the tube station. He was relieved to be away from the policeman and the omega. He wasn’t glad he had escaped discovery for the armored car robbery. He wasn’t angry either. He was anxious.

The hairs on the back of neck were standing up at full attention. His eyes shifted to the left and right as he looked into the faces of the people walking with him. They weren’t looking at John. They didn’t seem to notice him. But something was off.

The snipper lowered the scope from his eye. He wondered why the blond looked familiar to him. He would have to think about that later. Right now, Jim had told him to keep an eye on the omega’s flat to see if Mycroft Holmes showed up today.


	12. Look Whose Getting Bonded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft tells Sherlock about the planned bonding.

Sherlock stared at the photo he had stolen from the file about the armored car robbery. He knew Lestrade could get another copy if he needed to, but he hoped the policeman wouldn’t notice it was missing. _‘Out of sight, out of mind.’_ Sherlock hoped.

There was nothing in the photograph that would be incriminating, but it would put John on the police’s radar. They would start to ask question. If they found John with a gun, then he would be arrested and surely even the idiots at Scotland Yard would find a connection between John and the robbery. Sherlock couldn’t allow that to happen.

He heard the front door of the building open and sound of someone climbing his stairs. He noticed the distinct sound of an umbrella tapping on the wooden treads.

“Go away.” Sherlock said without looking up at his brother standing in the doorway.

Mycroft Holmes held his position at the door. He glanced around the flat as his fingers gripped the handle of his umbrella tightly. His expression seemed uncertain. As if he wasn’t sure why he was there.

“Where is Victor?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock glance up at the couch. Victor wasn’t there. _‘Where was he? When did I see him last?’_ Sherlock asked himself. He hesitantly glanced around the flat. There were no indications that his roommate had been there in the last few hours.

“Out.” Sherlock said, then returned his attention to the photo of John and James. He opened the drawer of his desk and slipped it under some papers before closing the drawer. “Now, if that was all you needed, I am going out.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “Sherlock, we need to talk.”

“There is nothing that you could say that would interest me.”

“Sherlock, please sit down! This is important!”

Sherlock ignored his brother and went to grab his heavy black coat. Mycroft’s fingers tightened on the handle of the umbrella until his knuckles turned white.

“It is about your bonding.”

Sherlock stopped moving. The words were simple to understand but Sherlock couldn’t grasp them.

“My bonding?”

“Yes. Sit down.” Mycroft said. He finally stepped further into the flat.

“NO! Mummy said I could choose for myself!”

“I realized our mother filled your head with the notion that you were going to be allowed the opportunity to choose your mate but . . .” placated Mycroft.

“Don’t treat me like a child, Mycroft. You know that was the agreement.” Sherlock snapped at his brother.

“And the stipulation of the agreement was that you lived with Victor Trevor. As far as I can tell, he no longer lives here.”

“He most certainly does too. The agreement stands!”

“Well, things have changed and there is an alpha who wishes to bond with you.” Mycroft finally turned to look at his brother.

“WHO!?”

“He is a publisher. A very influential and powerful man.” Mycroft said. He hated himself. He didn’t want to do this but the notice would be in the morning papers. Sherlock would start receiving phone calls and congratulations. His brother had to know that he was going to be bonded.

The description made Sherlock’s stomach twist. He felt sick. Memories of Magnussen’s assault rushed back into Sherlock’s mind.

“Who?” He braced himself.

“Charles Magnussen.” Mycroft said simply.

“NO!” Sherlock fisted his hands. He took a threatening step forward.

Mycroft flinched expecting the blow but it didn’t come. Mycroft took a moment to compose himself before he continued.

“He is a very prominent alpha and would be a good match for you. You would become the omega to an influential businessman. A rich and powerful man.”

“An alpha who murdered his last two omegas! A blackmailer and a criminal! A monster!”

“Sherlock, you are exaggerating again.” Mycroft rolled his eyes, but he knew there was some truth to what his younger brother was saying.

“Am I? What is he blackmailing you with? That’s the only way you would be foolish enough to allow such a union! Does Mummy know? What has she said about this?” Sherlock’s voice was accusing.

Mycroft wanted to shout back at his brother. He wanted to tell Sherlock that he had no other options but he would do everything he could to try and stop this before Sherlock was bonded to Magnussen. That he would never allow someone as insidious as Magnussen to be connected to his family. To bond with his only brother. His only real brother.

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I am the pack alpha since our father’s death. I am the one in charge.”

“You forced yourself to be in charge even before he died. You’ve been butting your fat nose into everybody’s busy before he even knew what had happened.” Sherlock marched pass Mycroft and crossed the room. “Why do you hate me so?!”

Mycroft was dumbstruck. _He didn’t hate his brother. How could Sherlock even think such a thing? Everything he did was for his family’s protection._

“Sherlock . . .” the words carried on Mycroft’s breathe.

“No, don’t try and justify yourself! You must know that Magnussen is one of the most dangerous men in England. You know he is responsible for Milverton committing suicide. Milverton couldn’t pay the blackmail so he took his life instead of facing the scandal. But you! . . . You are willing to sell your own brother to pay off him off!”

“Sherlock, I do not hate you.” Mycroft tried to keep his voice neutral. “I’m trying to protect us.”

“By whoring me out to a sexual predator?”

“Sherlock, please just listen to me.” Mycroft beseeched. He closed his eyes and took a deep nasally breath in. “The announcement will be in the papers today. The wedding is in two weeks. It will be private.”

“You won’t even give me a chance to plead my case!?”

“Nothing short of death will stop this, Sherlock. But you have nothing to fear . . .”

“Except the fact that Magnussen’s two previous omegas died suddenly and unexpectedly.”

“There will be a formal engagement party Saturday evening at Claridges. I will send you the specifics after I have received them from Magnussen.” Mycroft forced himself into the persona of government official. Reciting information with indifference. It would be the only way he could get through this situation with any dignity. “Mummy has refused to go, so I will be your only family present.”

“Of course she has refused. I do too!” Sherlock shouted again.

“You can’t. I will send a car for you. You will need to be dressed by eight.” Mycroft continued ignoring his brother.

“No!”

“You haven’t a choice, brother. I am your pack alpha and I have agreed to this union.” Mycroft forced himself to look at his frantic brother.

Sherlock’s eyes were wild with fear. The same frightened expression he had when their father had walked out on them twenty-two years before. Sherlock was only three. He didn’t understand where their father had gone. He didn’t know why their mother was crying. Mycroft was fourteen but far more mature than the adults he lived with. He understood. He knew about the omega his father had been having an affair with. The reason for Signer’s departure.

Sherlock had rushed to Mycroft’s room that night. He had leapt into his older brother’s arms and cried himself to sleep. Mycroft had to be the alpha then. He had to take over and protect his mother and brother from the world. Even after Signer returned, Mycroft would still be the pack alpha, keeping everyone else in his family safe. Just like then, just like now.

“Sherlock, we haven’t a choice.” Mycroft allowed a moment for honesty with his brother. “I know this is not what you want, but this is what will have to be.”

“I hate you.” Sherlock hissed. “Get out!”

Sherlock turned away from Mycroft. The younger Holmes glared into the fireplace. The cold grates where grey. He kept his face turned away as he struggled to keep the tears at bay. He wouldn’t cry in front of his brother. _He wouldn’t!_

Mycroft didn’t say anything else. He turned and left the flat as silently as he could. Hoping and wishing he would hear Sherlock call him back. That the same small boy who called for him and reached for him when he was scared. But Mycroft heard nothing. He left alone.

~^+^~

John finished reading the newspaper article about another celebrity dying unexpectedly after rehab. The young woman had been a reality TV personality who had been arrested numerous times for possession and disorderly conduct. She had just finished her second stint in rehab when her dead body was found in her hospital bed. The article speculated that one of her many celebrity friends had snuck drugs into the hospital for her and it was an overdose that killed her. The autopsy was expected to reveal the true cause.

John folded the paper, feeling disgusted by the story. He thought he should feel sorry for the woman, but he was dismayed why someone who had so much going for them would make such stupid mistakes. She was popular and attractive. She was making a lot of money doing actually nothing. It wasn’t like people were shooting at her. She wasn’t risking her life for others. She was barely even thinking of others.

John could hear Sherlock’s voice. _‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’_ That didn’t help. John’s mind suddenly filled with images of Sherlock. The description Lestrade had given him about Sherlock when he was younger. Sherlock living on the streets and using. His Sherlock. Thin and alone. Vulnerable.

John threw the newspaper across the room. His inner alpha growling at his imagination.

“I was waiting to see how you would react.” James said as he sat down. He had a plate of toast and jam in hand. A cup of steaming tea was in the other.

John looked at his friend. “React to what?”

“The announcement.” James said just before he took a big bite of toast. His tongue darted out and licked at the jam that clung to the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. What announcement?”

“The one about that omega. I saw it in the society column.”

“You read the society news? What omega?” John leaned forward to steal a slice of toast then paused. “You don’t mean Sherlock?”

“He’s getting married.” James said as he took another bite, pulling the plate out of John’s reach.

“Married? No you’re wrong. Sherlock’s wouldn’t be getting married.” John leaned back into his chair. He pushed down the feeling of jealousy. No promises had been made. They had only shared that one kiss. The fact that John kept thinking about that kiss and how good Sherlock tasted, didn’t matter. The fact that John’s alpha side wanted the omega. Wanted to hold him and pin him down. ‘ _Know what it felt like to . . .’_ John shook the thought away. He needed to keep a low profile right now. He didn’t need to bring attention to himself by courting an omega.

James set the plated down next to his chair. He stood up and retrieved the newspaper as John stole the last piece of toast. James opened the paper and folded to the back pages.

“Here, second column, half way down.” James handed the paper to John.

John wiped his fingers on his jeans and took the paper. He was certain James had been mistaken. He looked down the column until he read the announcement.

_“Mycroft Holmes and Violet Holmes announce the engagement of the Holmes omega, Sherlock, to Charles Augustin Magnussen, Esq.”_

John read it again, then a third time. It couldn’t be. _‘Sherlock was his’_ , the alpha growled. There had to be some mistake. _‘How many Sherlock Holmes could there be? Please, let there be two.’_ John thought to himself.

“See, I told you.” James said as he took the plate back to the kitchen.

John stood up and grabbed his jacket. He slammed the door closed before James could ask him where he was going.

~^+^~

Jim Moriarty looked at the announcement in the newspaper. This lips were pressed together in a thin line as he glared at the newsprint.

“We had an agreement.” Moriarty’s voice was barely above a whisper but the inflection was sharper than a razor.

“Did we? I wasn’t sure. Besides, I felt this was more in line with my needs.” Charles Agustin Magnussen said calmly.

“You were to give the memory stick to Smallwood. You were to discredit Holmes.” Moriarty glared at the other man.

Magnussen smiled. “Holmes is neutralized now. That is all that matters.”

“No it is not!” Moriarty raised his voice. “I want him destroyed!”

Magnussen laughed softly. “Poor little Jimmy. Left all alone. Did the mean stepmother send you out into the wood with only bread crumbs?”

The muscles around Moriarty’s eyes twitched before he could stop it. Magnussen saw the shift in his micro-expression.

“Careful Charlie. You shouldn’t speak about things you do not know about.”

“I was wondering why James Moriarty would bear such a great hatred for a minor member of the government. I wondered what Mycroft Holmes could have done to warrant such attention from you.” Magnussen removed his glasses and used his handkerchief to wipe them clean. Carefully he slipped them back on and adjusted them. “It was so long ago, but it must be still so painful. Rejection.”

“You have twelve hours to make an appointment with Lady Smallwood and hand over the thumb drive.” Moriarty said coldly.

“Or what? You will call the police?” Magnussen laughed again. “I think not. Besides, if they ask who gave me such a highly classified defense document, then I will be forced to tell them. You don’t want that, do you? No. We will continue as I have chosen. I will bond with Sherlock Holmes and Mycroft Holmes will become irrelevant. And you, my dear Jim, will plot your little revenges without me.”

Magnussen leaned back in his chair and crossed his long legs. A smug expression covered his face.

“I don’t tolerate threats.”

“I am not threating, Jim. Only informing how it will go. It really is for the best. And you can come to my engagement party on Sunday night. I’m sure that Mycroft would be excited to see you there. A little reunion of sorts, don’t you think?”

Magnussen stood and smoothed down the front of his suit. “Until then,” he said.

“This is not over, Magnussen.” Moriarty growled.

“Yes it is.” Magnussen smiled again and left.

Moriarty grabbed his phone and quickly dialed familiar number. “I have a job for you.”

“Will I enjoy it?” Sebastian Moran asked.

“Very much so.”


	13. Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out the truth about Sherlock.

John banged his fist on the black door of 221 Baker Street. The door opened and a frightened Mrs. Hudson stood staring up at the alpha.

“Oh, John, thank God it is you. I don’t know what to do.” She babbled.

“Where is he?” John pushed into the hallway.

“They were shouting. Saying horrible things to each other.”

“Who? Sherlock and his fiancé?” John growled at the word. ‘ _How could Sherlock be engaged?’_ He wondered. He ignored the possessive anger burning through him.

“Sherlock and his brother. I heard them shouting then doors slamming. I was going to go check on Sherlock, but . . . oh, please go up and make sure he is alright. Please.” Mrs. Hudson begged.

John ran up the stairs two at a time.

“SHERLOCK!” he shouted from the landing. The flat was silent.

John walked into the sitting room and glanced around. Everything was just as he had left it days before. He walked into the kitchen still shouting. “Sherlock? It’s me, John.”

The door was closed at the end of the hallway. John knocked on it before bursting in.

“Sherlock?”

The room was dark. The curtains were drawn. John noticed the poster of the periodic table on the wall. The corner of the poster was unpinned and had been lifted up. John glanced to the left and saw Sherlock sprawled across the bed. He was barefoot. He was wearing his black trousers and the sleeves on his white shirt were rolled up. The elastic tourniquet was still wrapped around his upper arm but loosely. The hypodermic syringe lay in Sherlock’s lax right hand.

“SHERLOCK!” John rushed forward.

He knelt on the edge of the bed and quickly checked to see if the omega was breathing. His finger slipped around Sherlock’s neck to check his pulse rate. John grabbed the needle and held it up to the light. Nothing remained in the syringe. He threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall.

John pulled Sherlock’s eyelids up and looked at the man’s pupils. “Damn it, Sherlock! What did you take?!”

John twisted to see if there was a vial on the nightstand. Beside it was a small folded piece of paper. John opened it and read the list of drugs. Merpinidine, morphine, and phencyclidine. John felt sick. He looked back at Sherlock.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU TOOK?!” he shouted.

He reached for his phone. He pressed the nine button once, then paused. John growled. He couldn’t call for an ambulance even though Sherlock needed medical attention. There would be questions that John couldn’t answer. It would draw too much attention to himself and to James Sholto. For a brief moment he thought he should call Lestrade, but he couldn’t get the police involved. Again, too much attention.

John checked to see if Sherlock was still breathing. The omega was, but it was shallow. His pulse rate was very slow. John ran his hand through his hair, then reached down and pulled Sherlock off the bed. The omega groaned as John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulled the taller man’s arm over his shoulder. John half walked, half dragged Sherlock out of the flat and down the steps.

Mrs. Hudson was standing at the bottom of stairs.

“John, what’s wrong?” she cried.

“Sherlock is sick. I’m taking him to the hospital.” John said as he pulled Sherlock towards the door. “Open the door for me and help me wave down a taxi.”

Mrs. Hudson opened the front door and helped John get Sherlock into the taxi.

“Which hospital?” Martha Hudson asked.

John hesitated. He glanced up into the frightened woman’s face. Her hands were folded together under her chin.

“Bart’s.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded as she closed the back door. The driver glanced at John in the back seat. Sherlock was practically sitting in John’s lap.

“St Bart’s, you said?” The driver asked.

“No,” said John. He gave the driver an address south of the river.

~^+^~

Mycroft Holmes tapped the fountain pen against his desk blotter. Sherlock had been missing for over thirty-six hours. Mycroft had no idea where the omega was.

Mrs. Hudson had called Mycroft when she had arrived at St. Bart’s Hospital looking for the young man only to be told he wasn’t there. She became frightened at the thought that Sherlock had been kidnapped and she finally notified Mycroft of Sherlock’s relapse and subsequent disappearance.

The CCTV showed Sherlock being carried into a taxi by that ex-soldier and then later being taking out of the taxi in Wanstead, but after that, nothing. Sherlock and the ex-soldier disappeared into a carpark. None of the CCTV cameras picked them up leaving any of the exits. All the cars that left the carpark for the next hour were traced.

Mycroft had already fired the people who had been tasked with keeping an eye on his younger brother. They were being replaced immediately and a new team was trying to track down the omega. Sherlock’s flat had been searched and the drugs were found this time. Most ominously a list of drugs was found beside Sherlock’s bed.

Sherlock had made a promise to his brother that there would always be a list of what he had taken. A list just in case he needed medical intervention. The list was there but Sherlock was not.

Magnussen hadn’t contacted Mycroft since the first meeting. The engagement party would be later that night. Mycroft debated calling the blackmailer and warning him about Sherlock’s disappearance. He wondered for a moment if Magnussen was responsible. _Could John Watson be working with Magnussen?_ There was no evidence that Watson knew the man. There was no real reason to believe the two would be working together other than Watson’s rather dubious behavior since returning from Afghanistan.

 _‘Did John Watson supply the drugs to Sherlock? Was he involved in some kind of omega trafficking? Was he responsible for Victor’s disappearance too?_ Mycroft weighed all the possibilities in his head. He realized he failed to relay the seriousness of Watson to his brother. Or maybe he had and in doing so, made Watson even more appealing to his danger seeking brother.

What ever happened, Mycroft needed to find Sherlock immediately. He needed to save his brother form himself, yet again.

~^+^~

Sherlock was used to waking up after a splurge of drug use in pain. It was never as much fun as the high. There was always the headaches. Piercing and right behind his eyes. There were the muscle cramps, usually in his back and thighs. If he had been sick, his mouth would taste foul. Often he had to throw his clothes away after a drug episode.

When he woke up this time, Sherlock first became aware of the scent. Something smelled wonderful. Spicy and warm. Exotic like paprika or cumin. It made his mouth water and gave an unfamiliar tingling deep in his abdomen. The second thing he realized was his muscles didn’t hurt as bad as normal. They weren’t cramping. Finally, he noticed he needed to go relieve himself. Badly. He should get up and get to the bathroom, but the scent was too alluring. He just wanted to stay embraced in it.

He nuzzled closer to the scent. The pillow he was on was harder than he remembered owning, but it was covered in a soft cotton case that seemed to be the source of the wonderful smell. He sighed and took another breath.

The fingers that were carding through his hair felt good although the actual physical presence of someone doing it was foreign and unfamiliar. Sherlock purred as he felt the fingers glide through his curls again.

“Sherlock, I know you are a wake. Do you think you can stand up?”

 _The voice was familiar but why?_ Sherlock nuzzled the hard pillow again.

“Sherlock, open your eyes.” The voice commanded softly.

Sherlock tipped his face up and tried to open his eyes. His lids felt like they glued shut. The shift in his head’s position brought the headache to attention. Sherlock winced and groaned. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up into eyes that were cornflower blue.

“John?” Sherlock blinked. His eyelashes felt like they were weighed down. He licked his dry lips. “John, when did you get here?”

“Look around, Sherlock.” John said calmly.

Sherlock blinked and then looked around the room. It wasn’t his bedroom in his flat. He twisted quickly out of the covers and looked around. He realized he was naked and in a room he didn’t recognize.

“Where am I?” Sherlock asked as he jumped out of the bed.

John was suddenly taken back as he watched the naked omega rush around the room. His eyes couldn’t help but travel down Sherlock’s long frame to his pert arse and small thin cock.

“My flat.” John said coughing slightly. Warmth filled him as his alpha side watched intently as the omega paced. He smiled lasciviously.

“Your flat? How did I get here?” Sherlock seemed confused and angry.

“Calm down and sit down . . . please.” John was not unaffected by watching the lithe omega stumble naked around the room. His jeans seemed to have gotten much tighter. He shifted on the bed to make himself more comfortable. “I went to see you at your flat. You were high.”

“Of course I was high. I injected myself with a 7% solution of morphine laced with PCP.” Sherlock started pacing again.

“Sherlock, you know that is dangerous.” John tried to remain calm. His anger was growing as fast as his lust.

“Oh don’t be boring.”

“Boring?!”

“Boring and stupid. I knew what I was doing. I’ve done it before.”

John glared for a moment then stood up and walked over to Sherlock. The omega stopped pacing and stopped in front of John. John’s hand came up hard and fast. Open palm across Sherlock’s cheek. The tall man’s head snapped sideways as the pain immediately radiated down the right side of his body.

“You idiot! You fucking son of a bitch!” John growled.

Sherlock grabbed the side of his face. His stunned expression made John rein his anger in.

“Sherlock, you have been given a unique gift and you are wasting it with these drugs.”

“I’m not wasting it . . .”

“Yes you are, damn it. You could be anything you want . . .”

“Except be my own person!” Sherlock barked. “I’m an omega! I won’t ever be allowed to be myself!”

John wanted to argue he knew Sherlock was an omega. His own body was reacting to the fact that Sherlock was an omega. More than anything he wanted to wrest the young man back to the bed and take him. But that was not what needed to happen. He needed to keep his head right now and not give in to his baser instincts.

John turned away from the naked man and went to the wardrobe. He pulled out a warn terrycloth robe and tossed it behind himself without turning around.

“Here, put this on.” John said as he stared at the wall.

Sherlock caught the robe as it was tossed and glared at it. He slipped it on and was suddenly surround with the scent from before. Warm and inviting. Like everything he wanted to believe security and comfort smelled like. The robe fit him in the shoulders but was six inches too short in the hem. It stopped around his knees. And the cuffs were pulled up to his forearms.

“John . . .”

The doctor turned around and paused for a moment as he looked at how ridiculous Sherlock looked wearing his robe. He smiled at the young man. Then he noticed the red mark on the side of Sherlock’s face and he suddenly felt guilty.

“Look, Sherlock . . . I found you unconscious. I was worried. I couldn’t call for an ambulance and I couldn’t leave you there alone. If you want I’ll call your alpha.” John felt a well was opening up at his feet.

“MY ALPHA!” Sherlock shouted.

“Your fiancé. He is probably worried about you. It’s been a day and a half.” John fought off the anger at saying the words.

“DON’T YOU DARE CALL THAT BASTARD!” Sherlock screamed.

“Calm down!” John growled back. “Why don’t you want me to call him?”

“I hate him!” Sherlock said.

“But you’re going to bond with him?” John was confused.

“I’m being forced to do so. I hate the man and have begged my brother to cancel the contract but he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my brother hates me. He wants to see me suffer.”

“Sherlock, I don’t understand. Why would your brother force you to bond with someone you hate? What would that accomplish?”

“Charles Agustin Magnussen is an evil man. He is a blackmailer.” Sherlock started to wave his hands around as he spoke. John watched as the omega began to circle him. “He is responsible for ruining the lives of dozens of people. He has wormed his way into position of power and control over influential people and he has somehow forced my brother into agreeing to a bonding.”

“He is blackmailing your brother . . . but not you?” John asked.

“He must be.” Sherlock said.

John was silent for a moment as he stared at Sherlock. Then he nodded his head. He’s eyes hardened and his jaw set in a firm line.

“Alright, then we stop him.”

“We?” Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, we.”


	14. When Your Imagination Gets You in Trouble.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, John and James discuss what the blackmail could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has changed for this story. It is now Explicit. There will be very explicit sex scenes with one in this chapter. Also there will be description of minor character deaths. Be prepared and please heed the tags.

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table with John Watson and James Sholto. Before him was a large coffee mug full of something that didn’t look like coffee.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked looking suspiciously at the contents.

“Chicken broth.” John said. He turned and started speaking to James. “Get the word out. I want as much information as possible on this Magnussen. Who does he work for? Who works for him?”

James nodded his head.

“Chicken broth? Why?” Sherlock asked ignoring the fact he was interrupting John and James.

John sighed and turned back. “I was able to give you IV’s to keep you hydrated while you came down but you need to eat something. Broth is the easiest thing for you to digest right now. If you can keep that down then we’ll try some toast and tea.”

“Eating’s boring.” Sherlock said still staring at the mug.

“If I hear the word ‘boring’ one more time, I’ll make sure you really aren’t bored.” John threatened.

James laughed softly. He reached up and grabbed Sherlock’s chin and twisted the man’s face up to look at the bruise on Sherlock’s face.

“Someone likes you.” James said.

John growled, but Sherlock looked confused.

“Likes me? Physical harm is a sign of affection?” Sherlock asks as he jerked his head back and way from James’ hand.

“It is when the last time he got pissed off with someone, he broke their jaw with a single punch.” James smiled.

Sherlock twisted to look accusingly at John but the blond appeared to be ignoring him and instead was studying the stains in the table top.

“We need to figure out what Magnussen has on your brother.” John said without looking up. He realized if he kept looking at Sherlock he would lose track of what needed to be done.

“Why?” Sholto asked.

“Simply because if we know then we will know how quickly Magnussen would be able to use it.” Sherlock answered the man. “If it is personal, then he could release the information quickly without any worry about himself. If it’s of a criminal nature, which I sincerely doubt, then Mycroft could lose his job in the government and lose his control over said government. If it is information regarding his job . . . information of a treasonous nature, then Magnussen is in just as much danger as Mycroft if it is released. Magnussen could be arrested for spying or sedition.”

“Which do you think it is?” John asked.

Sherlock turned and looked at the man. “Treason.”

“Are you sure?”

“Personal would be an embarrassment but nothing more. Given what has already been published about politicians I doubt Mycroft could be involved in anything more depraved than what is already out there. As for criminal- everything he does is with government sanction. Even an act of murder would be for ‘Queen and County’. No, the threat is not criminal. Therefore it must be state secrets. Something that if it was released would show Mycroft to be either a threat to England or a traitor to her.” Sherlock rattled off quickly without seeming to think about it.

“Is he a threat?” John asked leaning back into his chair as he took a more defensive posture.

Sherlock noticed the shift in John’s attitude and something about it thrilled the omega. John no longer looked unassuming. He looked powerful and dangerous. Sherlock licked his lips as his body began to tingle.

“No. Mycroft will tell you he holds a minor position in the government but he is lying. He is the government. He is MI6 or MI5 or the Foreign Office when he is not being something else. But he can lose that control if he is doubted. If someone shows that he can’t be trusted with England’s secrets.”

“And if Magnussen uses his blackmail . . . if he tells the world what he knows then he also risks being arrested as a traitor. So whatever he has it needs to be important enough to force Mycroft to prostitute his brother while keeping Magnussen from releasing it.” John clarified.

“Yes.” Sherlock stared at John. He was becoming entranced by John’s deep blue eyes.

“James, check to see if anyone has heard about information for sale. If anything has happened to someone who works for Whitehall or the Foreign Office. A mugging or robbery. Maybe a murder.” John said.

“John, we aren’t actually able to call the cops and ask for a list of crimes.” James offered his friend.

“But we know people like to talk. They like to brag. See if anyone is bragging to the right people.” John looked over at Sherlock. A wave of jealousy and protectiveness hit him as he looked into Sherlock’s open expectant face. “When are you supposed to bond with this bastard?”

“In two weeks. He wanted a short engagement.” Sherlock said quietly.

“Two weeks?” James was surprised. Usually short engagements like that meant there was a need to officially bond quickly. “Are you pregnant?”

The color drained from Sherlock’s face. John felt like he had been ‘sucker punched’. The air had been sucked out of his lungs.

“No.” Sherlock whispered.

John remembered how frightened Sherlock was when they met at the café. “Sherlock, that day you called me and asked me about bonding . . . was he the one who bit you? Did he . . . did he rape you?”

John watched as Sherlock’s lips twitched and he seemed to pull himself inward. “I wasn’t raped but he . . . groped me. He tried to . . . he kissed me and bite my lip but he didn’t . . . rape me. I’m not pregnant.”

The fear and anxiety was pouring off the omega in waves. The alpha could feel himself wanting to comfort and protect the man. John growled and want to lash out at Magnussen.

“I’m sorry I had to ask.”

Sherlock kept staring at the wall.

James glanced back and forth between the other two. “Alright, we have a plan. I start making calls. First Hanson then McMillian. John, you should go and track down Blackwood. He would be able to ask discrete questions up north.”

“I could contact my homeless network.” Sherlock offered.

“No.” John snapped. Then realized he had practically growled at the younger man. “It’s not safe for you to leave the flat. You stay here with James. Besides, you still stink from sweating. You should take a shower.”

“I can protect myself.” Sherlock countered.

“No, you can’t. Not when we are dealing with your brother and your fiancé at the same time.” John said.

“Magnussen is not my fiancé.” Sherlock snapped.

John scowled at the younger man. “Go take a shower, Sherlock . . .” The unsaid portion of ‘ _while the alphas talk,’_ was obvious.

Sherlock frowned. The corners of his mouth pulled down. John thought he even looked more adorable than before. John wanted to wrap his arms around the omega and take him to bed. To cover him in his scent and drive every other alpha away. John forced himself to look away and turn to James.

“We may need to move to a new location. There was a detective hanging around Sherlock. Greg Lestrade of Scotland Yard.” John said to James.

“Lestrade? He is harmless.” Sherlock said.

John turned back to glare at Sherlock. “He is a cop and a detective inspector. He is anything but harmless. And he knows about me.”

“He knows about you? Maybe I should be the one to go out and meet up with the men. You need to keep low.” James turned and looked at Sherlock. “And you still need to go take a shower. Go before I throw you in the shower, myself.”

Sherlock stood up suddenly, tipping the chair he was sitting in over. It crashed to the floor loudly. Before John or James could complain, though, Sherlock stomped off towards the bathroom. He slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

John’s eyes remained fixed on the close door as he heard the sound of the water start in the shower. A punch of lust came through him as he thought about Sherlock being naked just a few feet away from him.

“I’ll make sure to get him some clothes while I’m out.” John said.

“I’m the one going out. You brought him here, you deal with him.” James said. “Anything special you want to see him in?”

John twisted to look at his friend. A raised eyebrow questioned the older alpha.

“It’s bloody obvious you want to sleep with him.” James said.

John realized he was giving away too much. If his interest in the omega was obvious, then Mycroft or Magnussen could use it to manipulate him. John needed to divert the indication.

“Don’t you? He is gorgeous and just asking to be bent over and fucked.” John said trying to sound indifferent.

“No, I learned a long time ago not to mess with another alpha’s omega.” James smiled as he stood up.

“He’s not my omega, damn it.” John leaned back in his chair. His glance switched from James back to closed bathroom door.

“Does Sherlock know that?”

~^+^~

Sherlock stood under the hot water. He placed his forearm across the tile wall and leaned his face into it. The hot water sprayed across his back and ran in rivulets down his arms and legs. It felt wonderful. The warm moist air smelled of generic soap and the scent of the alphas who lived there. Sherlock could pick out John’s scent over that of the other alpha. It was warm and spicy, almost exotic. Sherlock took a deep breath, savoring the taste of John’s scent. It tingled all the way down his spine.

 _‘This is where John showers.’_ Sherlock thought to himself. _‘John stood here naked today. Naked just like me. Probably leaning against this wall.’_ Sherlock imagined John standing there as water ran down his strong body. Over his arms and legs as it conformed to outlines of his muscles. Sherlock wondered if John would be as tanned on his upper body as his face and hands were. Would there be a stark tan line at his waist? Would his well-muscled backside be pale white? Would it be as round and defined as it looked in the jeans he wore?

Sherlock reached over and picked up a bottle of shampoo. He snapped it open and pour a small amount into his palm. Slowly, he smeared the runny shampoo around with his fingers. It was thin and pearly white. It reminded him of semen.

Suddenly, Sherlock’s mouth was watering. His mind was caught up in the loop of John standing there under the water and pleasuring himself. _Would John use the shampoo to add lubrication? Would John’s callous fingertips become an unbearable friction?_

Sherlock closed his eyes as his hand migrated down his body. The cheap shampoo coated his finger and palm as his hand slid down his abdomen. Sherlock imagined John standing there. The soldier’s legs spread apart to brace himself. His hand moving slowly over his stomach as his other hand gentle massaged his balls. Sherlock mimicked his imaginary John. His own hands mapping out his body. The picture of John lightly touching himself then Sherlock doing the same.

A gasp escaped the omega’s lips as his fingertips caressed over the head of his cock. Sherlock leaned back against the cool tile and began in earnest to stroke himself while he imagined John doing the same.

_‘Would John be silent or would he moan? Would he go fast and light or prefer a firm grip that starts off slow?’_

_Firm!_ Sherlock moaned. His fingers wrapped around himself as his hips began to pump forward. He gave a small abrupt twist right over the head with every other pull. He was beginning to pant. Sherlock licked his lips and wanted to taste John’s kisses again.

_‘Would John join him in the shower and jerk him off? Would John enjoy that? Would John kneel down and take him into his mouth? Or would John prefer to push Sherlock into the tile walls and take him from behind?’_

The final image of John pressing himself into Sherlock’s body sent the omega over the edge. Sherlock’s own release blended with the cheap shampoo in his palm. Sherlock’s scent blended with John’s in the enclosed shower making a rich and heady perfume. Sherlock felt dizzy. He slid down the tile wall and collapsed on the floor of the shower. The hot water still spraying down on him. Sherlock took a moment to relish the sensation of a climax. He so very rarely allowed himself this diversion, but at this very moment he didn’t remember why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tagged this story with 'slow build' and now the change in both John's and Sherlock's opinion of each other is happening. I know there have been many comment about John not being a very aggressive alpha, but the further we get in the story the more possessive he will get as he grows more attached to Sherlock. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. And in next chapter the 'bed sheet' will make an appearance.
> 
> Please recognize that James is joking, trying to lighten the moment. He is not justifying domestic abuse. He recognizes John’s frustration even before John does. And he is trying to reassure Sherlock that John really likes him a lot.


	15. The Watson-Sholto Gang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get interrupted.

James was gone and John was in the kitchen washing up the morning dishes when Sherlock came out of the bathroom. John was expecting Sherlock to be dressed in the robe again, but instead he was draped artistically in a bedsheet. His damp curls were coifed into a dark halo around Sherlock’s head. His long neck and graceful sloping shoulder were on display as the fold of the sheet slipped down. Adonis or some other Greek god came to mind as John watched him.

“I couldn’t find my clothes.” Sherlock announced. He sat down with a huff.

“You got sick on them. They were a loss. We threw them out. Why are you in a bedsheet?” John’s mouth watered as he stared in astonishment at the beautiful younger man.

“I looked ridiculous in that robe. It was too short.” Sherlock snapped.

“You look ridiculous in the robe? Have you seen how you look now?” John could feel his groin filling out.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissing the question. John kept staring at the man. Sherlock actually didn’t look ridiculous; he looked spectacular. He had wrapped the sheet high on his body and bought the corner of the sheet around the back to fall gracefully over his right shoulder. Even with less skin being exposed, Sherlock was more alluring wrapped in the sheet from John’s bed. John leaned back against the counter and let his eyes linger over the bare skin of Sherlock’s upper chest. Then swept them down over the folds of white fabric, wondering if Sherlock had found a pair of pants to put on.

“Wait a tic” said John. He looked more carefully at the sheet. “Is that from my bed? I just changed that bed a few minutes ago.”

“Yes, you didn’t expect me to use the sheet I slept on did you?” Sherlock looked up at John with supercilious attitude.

“I just made that bed.” John growled at the man.

“I heard you the first time.” Sherlock glanced at the table and saw the laptop computer. He pulled it closer and opened it.

John twisted away from the omega and shoved his hands back into the sudsy water he was washing the dishes in.

 _“Arrogant, selfish omegas. Never a thank you or a please.”_ John thought. “ _All the same. Useless except for . . .”_

An idea slipped into John’s head. He let the water drain away in the sink as he set the last mug in the drying rack. He turned and looked at the dark haired omega. John studied Sherlock for a few moments. The omega was attractive and alluring; even unique but was he really different from any other omega John had slept with. Maybe Sherlock was like any of the dozen omegas he had known and bedded. Sherlock was just like the others he had been with.

 _‘The same as the others’._ The phrase circled around inside John’s head. If Sherlock was just like the others, then John should treat him just like he had treated the others. Maybe that was what Sherlock was waiting for. Why should he hold back? Why should John act like the inexperienced one here?

John dried his hands on the dishtowel then tossed it on the counter behind him. A lewd smile came to his face as he slowly circled around the table and up behind Sherlock’s chair. The omega was fixated on something on the computer screen and not paying any attention to John or his movements. John stepped up behind Sherlock and caught a hint of Sherlock’s scent. It was warm and sweet like vanilla mixed with apples. It made John’s mouth water.

He pinched the edge of the white sheet between his thumb and forefinger. Carefully and slowly he pulled the fabric away, exposing more of Sherlock’s naked shoulder. John bent down and slowly dragged his nose alone the edge of Sherlock’s shoulder. He felt the younger man sit up straighter in the chair then still. John lightly kissed Sherlock’s skin. He opened his mouth and licked at the pale skin. Then moved closer to Sherlock’s neck. His nose nuzzling into the crook of the man’s neck over the scent gland.

“John, what are you doing?” Sherlock asked hesitantly.

“Kissing you.”

“Why?”

“You taste good.” John’s voice was muffled by Sherlock’s shoulder. John moved down again and slowly sucked on the point of Sherlock’s shoulder. He could feel Sherlock shiver. John smiled.

“I taste good?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never taken the opportunity to discover that on my own. Why are you tasting me?” Sherlock asked as his voice trembled slightly.

John smiled again and twisted his head to look at Sherlock’s face. But his eyes caught the computer Sherlock was using.

“Wait . . . Is that my computer?”

“I don’t know. Why were you kissing me?”

“It was password protected.” John snipped.

“Boring.” Sherlock said as he waved his hand again contemptuously.

John growled and grabbed for the computer. He slammed the lid shut, unfazed by any damage he may have caused to it.

“I told you the next time you said ‘boring’ . . .” John twisted to move. Sherlock made a whimpering sound deep in his throat that caught John’s attention. The pleading sound rushed to John’s libido and twisted him back. John dropped the computer back down on the table and reached for Sherlock.

“Fuck the computer.” John growled.

He wrapped his hand behind Sherlock’s neck and pulled the omega’s face up towards his. The kiss was messy again. The two men slightly out of sync with each other. It took a moment for Sherlock to catch up with John then to take over the kiss.

John pressed his tongue to Sherlock’s lower lip and the younger man opened his mouth. John’s tongue swept in, and licked and caressed Sherlock’s. The younger man moaned and the vibrations traveled through John’s body down to his cock.

Sherlock could feel his body warm as his pale skin pinked. He felt light-headed and dizzy. Wanting to dissolve into John’s body while wanting John to melt into his. It was new. It was different. It felt heady and unreal but completely natural. Sherlock could feel his intellect being overwhelmed by something more primitive and innate. It became unsettling. Sherlock pulled back first.

John’s growl was loud and threatening.

“John . . . I didn’t mean . . . you weren’t boring, just the . . .”

John smiled as reached down and pulled Sherlock up to his feet. “How about we go and put that sheet back on the bed?”

Sherlock blinked then leaned down to recapture John’s lips. John’s fingers reached up and combed through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock purred and twisted his head down to give John better access. John wrapped a strong arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulled him closer. He lifted Sherlock off the floor by only an inch, but enough to carry him towards the bedroom.

They took a step towards the bedroom when the door of the flat banged open.

“We’ve got a problem.” James said as he rushed into the flat. He quickly locked the door and went to the window. He stood just to the side and carefully lifted the blind to peek around it.

John dropped Sherlock and pushed the young man behind himself protectively. He reached for his gun. He held it in one hand and his other wrapped tightly around Sherlock’s wrist and pulled the omega close to him.

“What is it?” John asked quietly, as if they could be overheard by someone outside.

“Spotters. I saw three in the street on my way back. They are good and hard to see, but I caught them. I circled around the block and noticed a sniper’s nest on top of the building next door.”

“Snipers!” John hissed. He turned towards Sherlock. “Would your brother use snipers?”

“Against me . . . I don’t think so, but you, he wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Damn it.”

~^+^~

Over the next three hours four men arrived at the flat. Three alphas and one beta. It was apparent the men had served together in the army. They all addressed John as ‘captain’ and James as ‘major’. They all looked suspiciously at Sherlock.

“I saw the one next to the café.” Said the man named Hanson. Hanson was around six foot tall with dirty blond hair. His eyes were pale brown with fleck of gold. He pointed down at the hand drawn map of the street and buildings surrounding John and James’ flat.

“Got him too. There is also the couple, male and female, sitting on the bench.” Said the ginger haired beta named McMillian. He pointed to a spot on the map.

“The third spotter is the bum in the alley behind the carpark. The one sleeping between the bins.” James said. The other soldiers nodded their heads and hummed in agreement.

“The nest seems more interested in the building next door.” The black alpha named Mickey Barton said. Mickey was a big man, over six foot four and eighteen stone. He was intimidating. “Their surveillance does seem to be on this building.”

“That’s only because they aren’t exactly sure which building Sherlock is in.” John explained.

“Why not?” Sherlock asked.

“When James and I moved in here, we vandalized some of the CCTV cameras. Some were broken, others were simply just moved. There are established blind spots leading in and out of the street now. If we can get to the carpark next door, then we can disappear out three different routes.” John explained. “We can leave down the alley behind the carpark, or into the buildings on either side of it.”

Sherlock smiled and John noticed the admiration in the omega’s eyes. It sparked something warm in his chest.

“They look like standard SAS.” Hanson said.

“Agreed.” James nodded. “So soldiers just doing as they are told.”

John made a deep grunting noise. “We’re not shooting any of them.”

“But Mycroft could have told them you are a terrorist. They won’t hesitate to shoot you.” Sherlock said.

“It’s not their fault that a bastard’s giving them their orders. Non-lethal force. Do I make myself clear?” John barked. The other soldiers nodded in agreement. It appeared to ease their conscious.

“We can’t wait it out here.” Sherlock said. “We need to get to Magnussen and stop him. Then Mycroft can be dealt with.”

“Obviously, but we can’t turn this street into a combat zone.”

“Alright, we use stealth. Like the bank robbery in York.” James said.

John’s eyes shifted towards Sherlock but the dark haired man didn’t seemed fazed by the comment.

“Eddy and I could distract the couple,” McMillian said. “Hot coffee down the front ploy.”

“And I actually have a great idea for the sniper’s nest if I can get within fifteen meters of them.” Hanson smiled.

“Okay, then I’ll take care of the man in the alley and that leaves you Barton to take care of the guy by the café.” James said.

“No problem, sir. And Captain and your omega can just simply drive out of the garage and away.” Barton smiled at John.

John glanced at Sherlock quickly. He saw the color drain slightly from the omega’s face.

“Mister Holmes is not my omega.” John said quietly.

The four soldiers looked confused for a moment. James shook his head. John looked back down at the map of the street. He could spend the time analyzing why that statement felt wrong. As he pointed to the alley behind the garage he missed the pout on Sherlock’s face.

“This guy needs to be the first to go down.” John said calmly. “Then we need to take the others out simultaneously.”

Habib Malik, ‘Eddy’, pointed at the mark on the map for the man by the café. “Barton could slip a smoke bomb into his pocket. I’ve got a few in my kit.”

“Alright, that just leaves Hanson on the roof with the sniper’s nest.” John said looking up into the face of the tall blond.

Hanson smiled. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ve got this covered.”

John gave one single sharp nod to the man. He looked down at the watch on his right wrist. “Okay. It’s fourteen hundred. I will be driving out of the garage at fifteen thirty hundred. We need this timed exactly. We will use a ten count as soon as everyone is in place and gives call signs.”

The men nodded and started to get to work.

~^+^~

One minute before three o’clock, a police constable stepped into the alley behind the building where James and John’s flat was. He walked slowly but purposefully down the alley. Glancing to his left and to his right. The SAS officer disguised as a bum saw him approach. The disguised bum sighed and hunched lower behind the bins. He couldn’t let his cover be blown by the police.

The policeman walked up to the man sitting on the ground. The bum was stretched out on a piece of stained cardboard. His clothes were filthy and he smelled. The policeman tapped his toe on the bum’s shoe.

“Com’on, up you get. Can’t stay here.” The policeman said as he took a step back from the malodorous bum.

“Le’me alone. I ain’t ‘urting nothing.” The SAS officer slurred his words to try and sound drunk.

The policeman squatted down so he look in the bum’s face. “I said you got’a leave.”

The SAS officer looked up into the policeman’s face. There was a distinctive scar on the side of the policeman’s face. A burn that had healed. The policeman’s eyes were clear blue and sharp. He looked too old to be just a constable.

“Le’me alone.” The SAS officer said again, feigning being drunk.

James looked carefully into the man’s eyes. They were clear and sharp. James moved quickly. He pressed the Taser into the man’s ankle. The two electrodes embedded into the man’s leg and the electrical charge caused the long muscles in his body to contract.

James stood up and leaned over the incapacitated man. He gripped the man’s dirty collar then punched him in the jaw. The SAS officer was unconscious. James lowered him back to the ground. He glanced up and down the alley. No one was running towards him. No one was shouting or calling out to him. He was alone with the unconscious man.

James pressed the small radio device attached to the uniform. “Alpha one, area secure. Go John.” James took off the constable helmet he was wearing and walked back into the building.

John was sitting in the car with Sherlock. The engine was running. John pressed the button on the mic. “Alpha two, thank you alpha one. Alpha two out.”

John put the car in gear and started counting slowly, out loud, “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

_________

Eddy Malik and Sean McMillian walked down the pavement towards the male and female SAS officers on the bench. Eddy and McMillian were arguing about a football match. Both were waving their hands around. Just as they got even with bench, McMillian shoved Eddy backwards. Eddy threw his arms out to catch himself but only grabbed air. He fell into the couple on the bench. Eddy’s cup of coffee flung across the SAS man’s shirt and trousers. The man cursed and leapt to his feet.

Eddy was sprawled across the woman’s lap.

“What the fuck!?” the SAS man shouted.

“GET OFF ME!” The woman screamed.

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” Eddy scrambled in the woman’s lap. Twisting and tripping only to fall a second time into her.

The man went to grabbed Eddy when Sean McMillian reached over and blocked the man’s punch. “It was just an accident, man, don’t go crazy or nothing.”

Sean blocked the officer from watching Eddy quickly pickpocket the woman’s handbag. Eddy grabbed the small gun that was secreted in her handbag. The SAS man turned his anger towards Sean. He narrowed his eyes and pushed his chin out.

“Look, arsehole, your friend ‘ere just doused me in hot coffee!”

“It was an accident. Like I said.” Sean smiled. The SAS man wasn’t frightened. He stepped closer to McMillian and clenched his fists.

“Get out of my face.” The man growled.

McMillian smiled once, then moved too quickly for anyone to see. His fist punched the man in his solarplexis. The SAS officer gasped. He started to double over, when Sean used the heel of his palm and hit the man’s face. The dull crack of breaking bones let Sean know he had broken the man’s nose.

The woman was still glaring at Eddy when she noticed her partner was bent over with blood gushing from his face. She pushed Eddy off herself and went to her partner. When she turned to attack the two strangers. They were gone.

_______

Just as Eddy and McMillian were approaching the couple on the bench, Mickey Barton stepped up behind the man sitting at the café. In Mickey’s hand was a paper sack. Inside the sack were two different firecrackers. One was a simple smoke bomb, but the other was an explosive firecracker. The two firecrackers were connected on a long fuse. The smoke bomb would ignite before the explosive firecracker went off.

Mickey carefully lit the fuse on the firecrackers and carefully dropped it back into the sack. Silently, he dropped the sack behind the man’s chair, then took a seat at a table within the man’s view.

The SAS man glanced up from his seat and saw Sean pushing Eddy into the woman’s lap. He set his newspaper down and started to reach into his jacket. The smoke bomb began to billow white smoke out from under the man’s chair.

“Hey, mister! Your chair’s on fire!” Mickey Barton stood up and rushed forward.

The SAS officer glanced down at the smoke, then the firecracker exploded. The man’s attention was on the chair and smoke and he didn’t see the fist coming at his face. Barton’s fist connected with the man’s jaw. His head snapped back. Barton’s left hand came forward and swung the blackjack into the side of the man’s head. The leather covered chunk of lead hit solidly and the man crumpled. Barton caught him before he fell to the pavement. Barton carefully set him back into his chair and laid the man’s head down on the table. He turned to leave at the same time Eddy and Sean were leaving the couple on the bench.

_____

Hanson worked his way silently across the roof of the building until he was within ten meters of the sniper’s nest. There were two men laying on their bellies and watching the street with spotting scopes. They never heard Hanson approach. Hanson had his nephew’s paintball gun. The reservoir was filled with paintballs. Half of the paintballs were frozen. Small spherical ice cubes of paint.

Hanson had the gun set on rapid fire. He raised it and opened fire on the two men. The first three rounds were normal paintballs. The red and green paint splattered across the shoulders, and the head of one of the men. It stung and the man grunted out in pain. The SAS man rolled over quickly, reaching for a sidearm. That is when the frozen paintballs began to shoot out of the gun.

They hit with surprising velocity. The paintball stung so much, that the man’s hand couldn’t hold onto the gun. The second man turned and was hit in the side of the face. The frozen paintball split his ear and broke his nose.

Next more of the unfrozen paintballs came out of the gun. The paint spattered across the men’s faces, blinding them.

When more frozen balls pelted them, the two men curled up trying to protect themselves. They shouted and screamed but Hanson kept firing until the reservoir was empty. Their bodies were bruised and bloody. By the time the two men realized they were no longer being fired upon, Hanson was already on the stairs running down to the street level.

_______

John reached ‘one’ when he pulled his car out of the garage and onto the street. He saw Barton hitting one man with blackjack. He drove past Eddy and Sean as they were distracting the couple. He was certain that Hanson had everything under control on the roof.

John and Sherlock drove away before any of Mycroft’s surveillance team had the opportunity to identify them. When it was over, the members of the elite SAS team weren’t even sure what had happened.


	16. John's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns why John is a crook. He also learns something about himself.

John opened the door on the small café and held it as Sherlock walked in. The dark haired man surveyed the room quickly. His gaze moving rapidly over the other people in the small café.

‘ _Alpha owner, father, does the cooking. Waitress is his daughter, omega, not bonded, shy. He emigrated from Poland. She was born here. They are familiar with John. She is infatuated with him.’_

Something possessive flared inside Sherlock. He glanced around the room at the other patrons.

_‘Three laborers. Two are in a secret relationship. The third is unhappily bonded.’_ He looked at the second table. _‘Mother, two children, separate fathers.’_

John guided Sherlock over to a table and the two men sat down. John slipped the backpack off his shoulder and set it on the floor beside his leg.

“We need to figure out what this information Magnussen has. Any ideas?” John asked.

“Give me that laptop and I’ll start looking. It will be something recent. Something that is connected to an insignificant event.”

John unzipped the backpack and removed the laptop. He handed it over to Sherlock who greedily grabbed at it.

“I doubt treason would be considered insignificant.” John said in a hushed tone.

Sherlock already had the laptop open and was typing away. He didn’t even look up at John as he spoke. “It’s not the treason we are looking for but something that would be connected to treason. A link in the chain.”

“Then it could be anything.”

“Yes.” Sherlock said as he scanned headlines from the previous week.

“At any time. This could have happened months ago or even years.” John was getting frustrated.

“No, not years. Mycroft would have been able to eliminate any evidence of treason if it was years ago. Even several months ago. It had to be recent. In the last . . . let’s say six months if we assume that Mycroft was negligent.”

“Well, aren’t we? I mean we are accusing him of allowing some vital secret to get out and into the wrong hands.” John leaned over the table to speak softer to Sherlock.

“It was more than likely not Mycroft who leaked the secret. It is more likely someone else, but Mycroft didn’t stop them.”

Before John could say something else, Roberta came up to the table. She had two cups of coffee in her hand and the menus.

“Hello John,” she said with a lilt to her voice.

Sherlock noticed it and glance up at her quickly, then looked back at the computer screen. John turned and smiled up at the young woman. She smiled back.

“We don’t usually see you this time of day. Anything special going on?” Roberta tried to sound relax but her voice trembled slightly and she blushed as John kept smiling at her.

“No, nothing new. Just . . .” He looked at Sherlock. “Just brought a friend by.”

Roberta turned and looked at Sherlock. She could tell he was an omega. She also knew he was far more attractive than her. She seemed to shrink back.

“Oh, yes. Well, can I get you anything?” She turned back to John.

“How about some pie? Cherry?”

“Sure, and for your . . . friend.”

“Nothing but quiet.” Sherlock said deadpan.

Roberta’s blush deepened as she darted away from the table. John sighed and glared at the younger man.

“That wasn’t nice, Sherlock.”

“Reading.”

John winced.

Sherlock scanned another set of headlines. There was an article about racial unrest in France and upcoming German elections. Sherlock quickly discounted them knowing that although Mycroft probably had his hand involved in both, neither would be important enough to compromise his position. He read an article about an industrialist who died in hospital after surgery. If Sherlock wasn’t so deeply involved in his present case he would have liked to investigate that man’s death. It was obvious that his greedy children were somehow involved in their wealthy father’s death. But Sherlock was certain that had nothing to do with Mycroft.

Roberta brought a slice of cherry pie back to the table and set it down in front of John. “I put some ice cream on it for you.” She whispered as she smiled at John. “Papa won’t like it but I thought you would.”

John looked up at her and winked. “Thanks, Roberta.”

She blushed again and scurried off. John picked up his fork and took a bite of the tart pie.

“You should ask her out on a date.” Sherlock said without looking at John.

“What?” John said around a mouthful of cherry pie.

“She likes you. She would be very . . . accommodating to you.”

“Accommodating? Are you saying I could easily get a leg over? No thanks.” John scowled and glanced over at Roberta’s father. He held a cleaver in his hand as he was prepping meat for kolaches.

“Why not? She is obviously interested in you.” Sherlock said as he tapped onto another story of a murder near Paddington Station.

John glanced over at the young omega. Roberta was pretty and sweet. She had big brown eyes and her dark red hair was thick. There was a sprinkling of freckles across her slender nose. She was attractive and John was sure there were many other alphas who found the young woman appealing.

“Not my type.” John said as he took another bite of pie. He picked up his coffee and took a sip.

“Female?”

“Needy.”

Sherlock hesitated in his typing for just a second. Then continued.

“She doesn’t appear to be demanding anything.” He said as he read a follow-up story to the Paddington murder.

“She would want to bond. She’s the type who would want a family and security and . . . everything that goes with it.” John said as he pushed the half eaten pie away.

“You could just sleep with her. No commitments. No promises.” Sherlock’s eyes were locked on the computer screen but his attention was on John.

“Look, I may be a crook and have loose morals, but I’m not a bastard.” John growled. “I don’t sleep with omegas when they expect more from me other than a good time. A one off.”

“Oh . . .” Sherlock looked up into John’s face. Sherlock remember how only a few hours ago, John was dragging him into a bedroom before they were interrupted by James. “But that wasn’t always true?”

John flinched. His eyes suddenly shadowed and his mouth dropped into a frown. “No . . . once it wasn’t true.”

Sherlock remained still. John seemed to suddenly be lost somewhere in his past. His eyes became unfocused and micro-twitches pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Who?” Sherlock asked. “Who was it?”

“Her name was Mary. She was a nurse.” John whispered. He leaned back in his chair. “It was before I joined the army. We worked together at the same hospital. I met her one night at work. Some idiot jumped out a third story window and changed his mind on the way down. Landed on his feet. He broke every bone from his pelvis down. We worked the case together. She was smart and funny. She made me laugh as we put this guy back together again. A week later we went out on our first date. A month later we were living together.”

John reached for his cup of coffee and took a long drink. He blinked the tears back.

“She was beautiful. Bright blue eyes and straw colored hair. A little pug nose. I loved her very much. When she told me she was pregnant, I never knew I could be so happy.”

Sherlock’s stomach did a little flip. He struggled to keep his emotions in check. He forced himself to remain still. He felt too hot and thought he might get sick. Sherlock didn’t understand why John’s story was effecting him the way it was. He didn’t know why he was so jealous of this woman.

“I wanted my child to have two parents. A mother and father. It was important to me. The night I was going to propose to her I got take away from her favorite restaurant. I had lit candles around the flat. I was sitting there in a fucking suit waiting . . .” John’s voice cracked. He leaned forward and dropped his face down. Sherlock forced himself to not reach out for him. “She didn’t make it home that night. Drunk driver hit her as she was walking across the street. Killed her and our unborn child.”

John took another sip of coffee.

“James Sholto and I were already friends back then. He knew Mary too. If it hadn’t been for him . . . well, things would have turned out differently. I quit medicine and joined the army. Became a soldier. Worked hard, passed all the ‘fit reps’ and when it was time, James put the beret on me. We served together.”

“Were you injured together?” Sherlock asked. He didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded hollow to his ears.

John’s eyes focused back on Sherlock. He seemed to shake himself out of the past and back into the present. He pouted and continued.

“No. James got promoted and moved out. I was moved up. He was sent out on a patrol with some raw recruits. Normal training, nothing unusual in it, but they were ambushed. Most of the men were killed. James barely got out of it alive. He dragged two men back after he, himself had been burned.” John picked up the coffee mug and looked down at the dregs in the bottom of it. He hesitated wondering if he should ask for more. Instead, he set it down and looked back at Sherlock who seemed transfixed by him. “I was shot while on patrol in Helmand Province. Sniper. We were in a firefight. Pinned down. McMillian got shot in the leg. Hanson’s gun was hit. I was shot in the shoulder. Blackwood, who you haven’t met, he was able to get a chopper in. Bill Murry threw me over his shoulder and carried me out as we were getting shot at. That’s the only time I thought I was going to die. That run to the chopper. I couldn’t do anything but bleed down Murry’s back. I remember watching his boots as he ran thinking if he trips, we are both dead. But . . . he made it and saved my life. I developed enteric fever, and was shipped out a month later to Germany. James was still at that hospital when I arrived. I woke up after a surgery and he was sitting next to my bed. We were discharged together.”

John gave a weak smile.

“And the robberies?”

John’s mouth curled into a self-deprecating smirk. “Well, that came later. Civilian life was . . . boring.”

John smiled at Sherlock and the dark haired omega couldn’t help himself but smile back.

“Agreed.”

“We tried to fit back in, but just couldn’t. So the first one was a simple robbery of a loan shark. He had been threatening someone we knew. We gave our friend the money we took from the loan shark to pay him back.”

“Very altruistic of you.” Sherlock said.

“No, not really. We didn’t give him all the money. We kept most of it for ourselves. The next time it was rigged poker game we robbed. Then another and another. Some guys from the squad hooked up with us for our biggest score, a casino. Then it just grew from there.”

“To armored cars?”

“Maybe.” John shrugged. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”

“Maybe you realize you can trust me.” Sherlock offered.

“Maybe or maybe I figure you’re in an even more desperate situation than I’m in.”

“Maybe we’re in this together.”

“Maybe. So tell me, have you found anything?” John asked.

Sherlock turned the computer around for John to see the article.

John read the report out loud. “Andrew West, age thirty-one, was found dead on the railroad tracks near Paddington Station. He died of apparent head injury. Police are investigating this as a probable homicide. West, an analyst for Hargrove Industrial, was recently engaged to Lucy Needleman. Miss Needleman stated West left their flat agitated around ten pm. His body was found just before five am on the railroad tracks. No other information available at this time.” John looked up into Sherlock smiling face. “Okay, so what? Mycroft killed this Andrew West?”

“No, but whoever did is who stole the defense secrets.” Sherlock said.

“Wait? Defense secrets? Where does it say anything about defense secrets here?” John pointed to the news report.

“Hargrove Industrial is a major military contractor. They provide software for military computers. West was an analyst for them. He would have access to defense plans and protocols. If for no other reason than to verify the programs used in writing them. He was agitated when he left the flat and was more than likely going to meet someone when he was murdered. And the murder took place less than two weeks ago. Not enough time for Mycroft to head off any damage.”

“So we take this to your brother?” John asked.

“No, we go to Magnussen. Tell him his blackmail information is now worthless and he can’t force Mycroft to sell me off.” Sherlock said.

“But I don’t understand. How is the information worthless? We may know what it is but it is still important. How do we convince him he no longer has a hold on your brother?”

“We lie.”


	17. Borough Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John meet with Magnussen

Borough Market is an assault on the senses. The cacophony of sights, smells and sounds leaves the visitor in a heathenistic chaos. The bright colors and banners above each stall and vender announces the locations of various aromas of roasting meat, aged cheeses and baking bread. The constant hum of conversations crash into the visitor with every language spoken in the Commonwealth. The centuries old, open air market is a feast for all the senses.

The side street, Green Dragon Court, was a portion of Borough Market not under the glass awning that was itself hidden under the raised railroad tracks just south of London Bridge. Food vendors line either side of Green Dragon Court. The smells of roasting lamb and sharp African spices mingle with sweet smell of baking fruit empanadas and cumin. John and Sherlock stood in the middle of the street as the crowds swirled around them.

John Watson didn’t like open markets like this one. He didn’t like the smells of the cooking food or the different languages he heard. It pushed him back to Afghanistan and patrolling the markets there. Memories of watching every person who walked passed him, having to suspect everyone of being the enemy regardless of gender or age. Looking suspiciously at every package or bag. _‘Did it have a bomb in it? Was this the day a suicide bomber would stand beside him?’_ John’s hands flexed wanting to feel the grip of a gun. His body ached for the weight of rifle and confines of body armor.

He stood defensively next to Sherlock. His senses on heighten attention. He scowled as he swept is eyes over the crowd once again. Feeling the electrical current run underneath his skin. He felt he was being watched. He felt exposed.

Beside him, the dark hair omega seemed ignorant of the alpha’s stress. Sherlock was also scanning the crowds but for a different reason. He was looking for a specific threat.

John’s anxiety had reached his breaking point. He wanted to grab Sherlock and flee. He leaned closer and said. “He isn’t coming. Let’s go.”

“No,” Sherlock took a step forward. “He’s here.”

John’s eyes followed the direction of Sherlock’s. He saw the stranger immediately. Charles Augustin Magnussen was not what he was expecting. He didn’t remind John of an alpha. He seemed unimpressive in appearance at a distance. As he approached, he looked unhealthy. Beyond thin, he almost looked emaciated. His skin was paste and pale. His eyes were a watery grey. But there was something else. Something frightening. The man, regardless of his weak façade, was also obviously a predator. John could see it.

John took a step slightly in front of Sherlock, blocking the advancing alpha from the omega. Magnussen noticed the blatant possessive move on John’s part. Sherlock seemed oblivious to it and moved to stand beside John as he glared at Magnussen.

“Darling, I was so worried about you.” Magnussen said as he approached.

“Don’t be rude.” Sherlock said. The irony of the statement seemed lost on him.

“You missed our party. Your brother said you were unwell, but you look fine to me. Lovely as ever.”

John growled and his hand twitched again for want of a weapon. Magnussen noticed and smirked.

“Darling, tell your silly bodyguard that his presences is no longer needed. Send him scurrying off.”

“He is not my bodyguard and his presences is welcomed here.” Sherlock said. Magnussen raised a doubtful eyebrow at Sherlock. “Far more welcomed than you are. The wedding is called off.”

“You must be mistaken. Your brother, your pack alpha has assured me that we will be bonded in less than two weeks.” Magnussen said calmly ignoring John’s glares.

“Whatever hold you think you have on my brother it is no longer of any value. I will be releasing the information about Andrew West myself.” Sherlock said imperiously.

Magnussen’s smile faltered for a moment, then returned. “You wouldn’t willing jeopardize your brother.”

“Why not. He was willing to sell me off to sexual pervert.”

“Oh you are such a flirt. You make me blush. You won’t do it. If you do, then any protection he could give you would evaporate. No, the wedding will proceed.” Magnussen said calmly. “Now, say goodbye to your . . .” He glanced at John. “Guard dog and come with me. You owe me compensation for disappointing me and not attending our engagement party.”

“He is not going anywhere with you.” John growled. He grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled the young man.

Magnussen gave a little laugh. He removed his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief before returning the cloth to his breast pocket. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and held up a memory stick. A small grey thumb drive.

“Because of this, Sherlock will do whatever I tell him to do, you insignificant little man.” Magnussen addressed John directly as he waved the thumb drive under his nose. “If I tell Sherlock to get down on his knees and suck me off here in the middle of Borough Market, then he will kneel before me and do so. Make a spectacle of himself for my pleasure.”

John’s face was turning red with anger.

“I am the one in charge here, not you and not his brother, Mycroft. He will learn to respect me and to do as he told. He, just like you, are nothing but toys for me to use and break. Now leave and never contact my bondmate again.”

“I’M NOT YOUR BONDMATE! I REFUSE! I NEVER WILL BE!” Sherlock was shaking with fear and anger.

John pulled Sherlock back further from the man. John twisted his hand behind his back to grab his gun. His fingertips had just touched the composite grip when the side of Magnussen’s head explode out. Magnussen’s body slumped like a puppet who had his strings cut. He fell to the side, then landed in a heap on the tarmac.

Sherlock pulled out of John’s grasp and knelt next to the dead man. John grabbed Sherlock’s shoulder and pulled him to his feet. John quickly looked around as he started moving backwards. He took Sherlock’s hand as they ran from the scene. _‘Sniper!’_ John’s mind registered what had happened before the crowds started screaming and running.

“John!? John!?” Sherlock shouted.

“We need to get the hell out of here!” John rushed through the crowds and out onto Borough High Street.

John pulled Sherlock against one of the buildings as frightened civilians ran passed them. John’s eyes scanned the crowds for anyone who looked like the enemy. His hand on Sherlock’s chest as he pressed the younger man against the wall and shielded him with his own body.

“John, it was a sniper, wasn’t it?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes. I didn’t hear a report so he was using a suppressor. Not a sniper’s rifle. He was close. Maybe a roof top. Maybe a window. Within fifty meters.” John did look at Sherlock. He was busy checking for threats.

“We could have been the targets.”

John finally looked at Sherlock. “No, I don’t think so. It was a clean shot right through the side of his head. We were not in line with the shooter, but . . .”

“We could be secondary targets.” Sherlock finished John’s sentence.

“Yes. Your brother?” John asked.

“Maybe, but he didn’t know we were meeting Magnussen. Regardless, it’s time to end this.” Sherlock said.

“How? Where?” John’s eyes returned to scanning the crowd.

“We have this.” Sherlock held up the thumb drive. “And I know the perfect place to confront Mycroft.”

John looked back into the smug expression on the omega’s face. Not two minutes earlier they had witness the murder of Magnussen, and now Sherlock wanted to take on his alpha brother. John felt a wave of admiration for the crazy man hit him. He returned Sherlock’s smile, and hand in hand, the two took off running.

~^+^~

Sebastian Moran always felt a surge of adrenalin as he pulled the trigger. Watching as the sudden appearance of blood and brain matter spraying outside his target made him tingle all over. A small curl to the corner of his mouth was the only outward sign of pleasure.

He held the butt of the gun tight to his shoulder. Learning long ago not to lift his head to check his target but to keep his head down on the gun and look through the scope. That is when he saw the dark haired omega again. Sherlock.

Moran had seen the man before, but it was while he had the omega’s flat under observation. He was concentrating on who was coming and going and not on the man himself. He was told to wait for Mycroft Holmes and report back to Moriarty. He had never had Sherlock under the scope of his gun before.

As he aimed his rifle at Sherlock, something else stirred inside the alpha. He held the crosshairs of the scope on the man as he watched him bend over the dead Magnussen. All he needed to do was simply squeeze his finger on the trigger and the omega would be dead. Sprawled across the body of his fiancé.

But Moran hesitated. He looked at the omega. His dark hair and sharp cheek bones. His iridescent silver eyes. Moran’s mouth watered. He felt his length twitch in interest. Moran understood Magnussen’s interest in the unusual omega. Sherlock Holmes was beautiful.

Moran licked his lips wondering if he could convince Moriarty to change his mind and allow him to keep the man for himself.

Suddenly, Moran saw Sherlock being grabbed by the blond he had seen before. He was the man leaving Sherlock’s flat several days ago. The short blond who carried himself like a soldier. Moran quickly shifted the scope onto the other blond. He aimed but the two men had disappeared into the fleeing crowd. He couldn’t get another shot off. He couldn’t kill the blond. He would just have to wait until he got his chance again.


	18. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Violet Holmes. Neither is impressed.

Mycroft Holmes was a very busy man. He always stated he maintained a minor position within the British Government, while Sherlock claimed he was the British Government. Sherlock was closer to the truth than Mycroft was. Mycroft’s exact title was a state secret. Less than five people in the country actually knew what it was and that included the Prime Minister and the Queen.

Mycroft’s responsibilities ranged from foreign and domestic affairs. His analysis was valuable in manipulating the international money markets and foreign elections. He maintained a firm grip on the intelligence community as well as the military. His decisions directed the leaders who directed the country.

All the more reason he was exasperated. He didn’t need to be called to his mother’s house like a wayward child. He had important things he needed to be dealing with. There were the elections in Germany and the shift in the government in Cambodia that he need to handle. There was economic arrangement that needed to be finalized with the EU. There were the Russians making overt threats again. Finally there was Magnussen and Sherlock.

Mycroft had seen the CCTV of the murder in Borough Market. He watched as his brother and the former soldier, John Watson, argue with Magnussen. He watched as Magnussen was shot. Although John Watson hadn’t pulled the trigger, Mycroft was positive the ex-soldier was responsible for the man’s death. It was clearly an assassination by someone with military training. The weapon was suppressed and used subsonic ammo. As of yet, the autopsy wasn’t completed, but he was sure the weapon was a 556 rifle, specially loaded with NATO caliber, 69 grain sierra match king ammo. One of the preferred weapons of the SAS and the Commandos. Mycroft was certain that Watson knew men with the sniper training needed and the ability to get in and get out of the area without being caught.

The intriguing question was why had Watson killed Magnussen? Was it because of Sherlock? What did Watson want with Sherlock? Was Watson involved in some kind of omega trafficking ring? Did he plan on selling Sherlock off to some rich foreign alpha? If he did, Mycroft was going to make it very clear that Captain John Watson had picked the wrong omega to mess with. Mycroft had been the pack alpha for his family ever since his father’s indiscretion. If it was something else - something romantic, Mycroft would make certain to stop that too.

But first he needed to deal with his mother. She had called him an hour before and said it was imperative that he come over to her house. Mycroft growled. He might have been the pack alpha for the Holmes family, but he was still the woman’s son and therefore accommodating to her. He gritted his teeth thinking it was going to be something completely irrelevant and a waste of his very valuable time.

The car pulled up in front of the refurbished farm house. The brakes silently stopped the saloon by the wrought iron gate. His driver opened the back door of the car and Mycroft got out. He tugged absentmindedly on his waistcoat as his eyes moved quickly over the house. A climbing rose bush that doggedly clung to the Victorian bricks had gotten larger over the years. It now covered at least a third of the front of the house. The dark foliage framed the porch and the front door. Mycroft noticed the curtains were drawn in the front windows which was unusual for this time of day. Maybe his mother had neglected to open the drapes earlier. Maybe she wished to conceal something.

“Wait here,” Mycroft said. “I won’t be long.”

He hoped.

He felt since this was the house he had grown up in, then there was no reason to treat it as anything other than his second home. His first home of course being in London. He didn’t knock on the front door of the house. Instead he simple walked in. Or at least he tried. The door was locked. Another oddity. He rolled his eyes and sighed as he used the brass doorknocker.

Mycroft could hear not only the dead bolt being turned but also the chain on the door as well. The door opened slightly; the night-chain kept the door from being open further. His mother’s violet eyes became visible in the slight gap between the door and the jamb. She recognized her son and quickly closed the door. Mycroft heard the chain being removed, then the door opened again.

“Myc, finally. Where have you been? I called you hours ago.” Mrs. Violet Holmes admonished her son.

“Mother, it has only been sixty eight minutes since you called.” Mycroft said as he walked into his mother’s home. “And since you gave me the name Mycroft, could you at least try and make it all the way to the end of it.”

Violet Holmes ignored her eldest son and closed the door behind him quickly. She turned the deadbolt and even slipped the night-chain into place.

“This is important, Myc. I don’t know what has happened but you must put an end to this immediately.” Violet Holmes said.

“To what?”

“Sherlock and this . . . alpha.”

“Sherlock and who? Magnussen?”

“No, no, no. Keep up, Myc. Magnussen is dead. No the other one.” Violet Holmes wrung her hands together as her eyes darted side to side.

Mycroft wondered how his mother knew Magnussen was already dead. ‘ _The only way she could have was if . . ._ ‘

“Yes, Mycroft. We are here.” Sherlock said from behind his brother.

Mycroft turned around and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen. John Watson was standing behind the omega looking over his shoulder. Watson had a scowl on his face.

Mycroft suddenly felt defensive. Watson was an intruder in his mother’s home. He was inserting himself into Mycroft’s family where he most certainly was not welcomed. And he quiet possibly involving Sherlock in a murder. How dare he act like he was the injured party.

“Mummy, Sherlock, if you please, I would like to speak to Dr. Watson privately.” Mycroft forced himself to sound civil.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at his brother. He didn’t trust Mycroft.

“No, I don’t believe that is wise.” Sherlock said. “I think we should get this out in the open.”

“Sherlock, I know what happened at Borough Market today.” Mycroft snapped.

“Yes, it was quite exhilarating.”

“Exhilarating!? John Watson murdered someone and involved you!” Mycroft’s voice jumped in volume.

“John didn’t kill anyone. It was one of your men who shot Magnussen.” Sherlock snapped back.

“How could it have been one of my men? I didn’t even know where you were until I saw the CCTV feed.”

“It had to be you. Who else could it have been?”

Mycroft looked pointedly at his brother then over to John.

“Look, we were just there to tell Magnussen to back off. That the wedding was being called off. If you saw the CCTV then you know we were standing right there with him when he was shot.” John glared at the man. More than anything, he simply wanted to punch Mycroft in the face, but he knew he needed to civil around Sherlock’s family.

“Exactly, Mycroft. We wouldn’t have placed ourselves in harm’s way. It had to be one of your men.” Sherlock added.

“Sherlock, you don’t understand. You are so naïve.” Mycroft said as he pulled his shoulders back to appear taller and more in control.

“It is you who is naïve. Why don’t you tell Mummy the truth? The fact that you were being blackmailed and you decided to use me as payment.” Sherlock scowled back at his brother.

Violet Holmes glanced back and forth between her two sons. “What is he talking about, Myc?”

“MYCROFT!” the eldest Holmes son shook with rage.

Mycroft struggled to regain his composure. He glanced back at Sherlock and frowned. He was ashamed he had allowed Magnussen to push him into the agreement. And even more embarrassed that it was John Watson and his sniper that had protected Sherlock instead of himself. But he didn’t know where Magnussen had left the thumb drive with the defense plans on it; and he didn’t know who else had access to it.

“Sherlock, I don’t not know what you are talking about.” Mycroft said as he feigned composure.

Sherlock held up the thumb drive for his brother to see. Mycroft’s eyes suddenly opened wide. He lunged forward to grab the memory stick, but Sherlock quickly pulled it away. John pushed forward to block Mycroft from getting too close to the omega. Sherlock smiled as he shoved the thumb drive deep into his pockets.

Mycroft caught himself and stepped back. He smoothed down the front of his suit as he glanced at the three people who were looking at him.

“Sherlock, it won’t grant you any advantage. I’ve made certain that those plans are no longer valuable to our enemies.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother.

“It is not the plans themselves that are important, Mycroft. But the fact that you were so lax about their disappearance. Have you notified the Prime Minister of your failure to guard the nation’s secrets?” Sherlock smirked at his brother.

Violet Holmes didn’t know what Sherlock was holding. “What is that? Explain this to me, Myc. What have you done?”

Mycroft forced himself to relax and explained.

“It is a memory stick from a defense contractor. There are missile defense plans on it. It was stolen and used to blackmail me.”

“By Magnussen? Is that the reason that you agreed to the bonding between Sherlock and him? Did he threaten you? How could you be such an idiot?” Violet asked. The comment stung the alpha.

“It is irrelevant.” Mycroft said, but his eyes flitted between John, Sherlock and his mother. He could already see the doubt and questioning in his mother’s eyes.

Sherlock leaned back onto his heels. “Then if it is irrelevant, you won’t mind me releasing it to the Guardian?”

“NO!” Mycroft shouted again. He caught himself and sighed. “Please, Sherlock. Don’t do that.”

Mycroft resigned himself to tell the truth to his family. “Magnussen forced me to agree to the bonding and marriage. I didn’t want to but I had to. I’ve been rushing around trying to figure out a way to stop him. I made sure the plans were no longer of any value to anyone . . .”

“But the fact that they were stolen on your watch jeopardizes your position in the government.” John finished Mycroft’s sentence. “You were willing to give your brother to that sick fuck to keep your job?”

“Dr. Watson, it is more important than just maintaining my position. Who is there to replace me?” Mycroft said.

“Right now, anyone with a backbone.” John growled.

Sherlock smiled. He stepped away from the crowd of people and went to sit down on the couch. His long legs crossed as he spread his arms out over the back of the furniture.

“If you wish for the return of the memory stick, there will be concessions.”

“You wish to blackmail me too?” Mycroft asked giving his brother a suspicious look. “What do you want?”

“I want to be able to continue to live at 221 B Baker Street after Victor is bonded.” Sherlock started. “You won’t force me to return to your house in London.”

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes again.

“I don’t see why you should be asked to move, unless Mrs. Hudson wishes you to.”

Sherlock knew the old lady thought of him like a son and would never let him go.

“You will remove every camera and listening device in my flat as well as removing the surveillance teams.” Sherlock said.

“That could be arranged.” Mycroft relented

“You won’t push me into any more marriages.”

“Unacceptable. I am the pack alpha. It is my responsibility to find you a suitable alpha to bond with.” Mycroft said.

“Suitable?” Violet huffed. “Like you’ve done a bang up job so far.”

“Mummy, please.” Mycroft appealed. 

Sherlock ignored his mother and brother. “You will not interfere with anyone I wish to become friends with.”

Mycroft almost shouted ‘ _NO’_ , but hesitated. He glanced over at John Watson who was still scowling at the other alpha.

“It would be remiss of me to not be concerned about your acquaintances with unsavory types.” Mycroft replied. He watched as John balled his fist. Mycroft took another step back, retreating from the angry alpha.

“I must agree with Mycroft,” Violet Holmes said. She ignored John and went to stand next to her son. “You have shown terrible judgment in your choice of companions.”

Sherlock looked confused for a moment. He sat forward and blinked.

“Companion? Who are you talking about? John?”

“Sherlock, quit being so emotional. It really detracts from your ability to think.” Violet snapped at her son.

“I am not emotional!” Sherlock barked back at his mother. He jumped up from the couch and waved his hands in the air.

Memories of pervious arguments came back to Sherlock. His mother claiming he was too emotional. Mycroft stating he couldn’t be responsible enough to take care of himself.

“It is obvious to everyone what is happening, Sherlock. Why won’t you see it?” Mycroft rolled his eyes.

Sherlock glared at his brother. “Enlighten us, brother dear.”

“John Watson is only spending time around you for one reason. And one reason only. His type does that.”

“His type?!” John snapped as he returned to glaring at the other man. “Do you mean a doctor or a soldier? Or are you referring to the fact I’m an alpha?”

Mycroft snuffed and raised his chin defensively.

“Well, isn’t it the truth? You are a serial seducer, Three Continent Watson. You’ve had numerous amours? How long after you have bed them do you remain? A week? A day? Or do you simply leave in the morning before they wake?”

John growled. His eyes narrowed as his face warmed with anger. He wondered how Mycroft had learned his nickname. Mycroft continued.

“He will take what he wants and leave you afterwards. He has no other interest in you but adding to list of conquests. Sherlock, in your own best interest, you really should break this off sooner rather than later. It’s all in that file I gave you, if you only had taken the time to read it for yourself.”

Sherlock lunged at his brother. His hands reached to wrap around his brother’s neck.

“Sherlock! Mycroft! That is enough!” Violet snapped. “One would think you were raised without any manners or dignity at all.”

The two brothers stopped but still glared at each other. John didn’t care what the woman said. He still wanted to punch the idiot in the face.

“I might have had to tolerate foolish behavior from your father, but I refuse to allow the two of you to act like children. Sherlock, give the thumb drive to Mycroft. Mycroft will keep his end of the bargain.”

John stepped forward to argue but Violet Holmes gave him a sharp look that told him his opinion was not welcomed. Sherlock hesitated then held out the thumb drive. Mycroft took it and sighed.

“Thank you, Sherlock. I will have the cameras removed before you return to your flat.”

“As well as the surveillance teams.” Sherlock snarled as he went to stand next to John.

“They are there for your protection.”

“I only need to be protected from you, Mycroft.” Sherlock said. “You are my real enemy.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to oppose Sherlock, but paused. He could see any further comments would be either ignored or rejected. He slipped the thumb drive into his pocket and patted the outside of it slightly.

“I will always be here when you need me again, Sherlock.” Mycroft said calmly.

Sherlock sneered at him as he turned and kissed his mother’s cheek.

“Mummy, as always . . . very stimulating seeing you.”

Sherlock turned to leave. John hesitated. He was still furious with Mycroft but he was a gentleman.

“Mrs. Holmes. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under a better circumstances.”

“Dr. Watson, if they were better circumstances, we wouldn’t have met at all.” She said rudely.

He didn’t even offer his hand to her. John turned and marched out of the farmhouse. Mycroft and his mother watched the two men go.

“Mycroft, you gave in too quickly. What is wrong?” Violet asked her eldest.

Mycroft pressed his lips together and winced. “I was thinking.”

“You are always thinking. Thinking and planning. Do you have something planned for Dr. Watson?”

“No, not for him. But something he said. If John Watson wasn’t responsible for shooting Magnussen, then who is?”

“Does it matter?” Violet asked.

“It could matter very much.”


	19. When the Voice in my Head Lies to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is the smartest man in the room but he is also the most naïve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has smut in it. If not your cup of tea, skip down to the break. More of Sherlock's family history is reveled in this chapter.

Sherlock and John fell through the door of 221B laughing. Ever since they had left Violet Holmes’ house, the two men had been giggling and laughing at their success.

“I can’t believe he gave in.” Sherlock said. He felt light headed and giddy.

“You have him by his balls.” John smiled at Sherlock. A spark of pride brightened John’s sapphire blue eyes.

“You don’t understand. Mycroft would prefer to shoot himself in the foot before he would allow me one inch of freedom.” Sherlock spun around in the room with his hands raised above his head. “Do you have any idea how free I feel right now? To know that I don’t have to live with him sitting like a spider on my shoulder watching everything I do?”

John laughed at the image of a hairy black spider with Mycroft’s pale face on its head. He imagined long white fangs hanging down over Mycroft’s thin lips.

“The evil Mycroft is vanquished by my prince’s lie.” John stepped close to the excited Sherlock. He thought he had never seen anything more enchanting than Sherlock happy and laughing.

Uninhibited, Sherlock smiled wickedly and wrapped his arms round John’s solid shoulders and kissed the alpha. John eagerly returned the kiss. Lingering on the softness of Sherlock’s lips pressed to his. The sweetness of man’s scent folding around John. His fingers finding themselves dragging slowly though Sherlock’s satin curls. Sherlock hummed and tilted his head so John’s fingers pulled slightly tighter on the omega’s hair.

“God, do you know how long I’ve wanted to get my hands in your hair?” John rumbled next to Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock smiled into another kiss. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to get your hands into my hair?”

Desire and lust punched through John’s body. He felt himself craving to have Sherlock as his own. The air in the room seemed to change. As if it became electrified. Sherlock’s skin became sensitive to John’s touch. And Sherlock knew John felt the change too.

“Where is your flatmate?” John’s voice rumbled.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he is home.” Sherlock said as he lingered on John’s mouth. He took a step to the side. Reaching to take John’s hand and lead him down the hallway.

Suddenly, John dipped down and picked Sherlock up in a ‘fireman’s lift’. Hauling the omega over his shoulder, John turned and started towards the bedroom.

“John!?” Sherlock gasped excitedly. “I can walk!”

“Too much time. We’ve been interrupted too many times.” John said as he lightly kicked the door open to the bedroom.

He lowered Sherlock to the floor, then pushed the man into the wall. Pressing his body close, John returned to kissing Sherlock’s mouth, before dipping down and mouthing at the omega’s long thin neck.

“You’re still too tall, but you taste so good. I can’t stop.” John said as he licked over the scent gland. Brown sugar and the tartness of spiced apples assaulted John’s senses. He pressed his swelling groin into Sherlock’s thigh, as listened to Sherlock moaned. The omega slumping against the wall, submitting to the alpha’s touch.

“You taste like cumin and saffron. Spicy and delicious.” Sherlock said as he reached down to cup John’s face and pull it back up for him to kiss. Sherlock’s fingertips mapped out the contours and slopes of John’s muscled arms and chest. John masculine scent was making the omega feel heady. Sherlock had never felt so much desire in his life. If John stopped now, Sherlock knew he would die. He wanted John. He needed him. As much he needed as oxygen.

“Maybe I could offer you something to nibble on later?” John teased as his hands roamed over Sherlock’s chest. His thumb rubbed over Sherlock’s nipples and he was rewarded with a sharp gasp and a shiver.

“If you don’t, I will be completely put out with you.” Sherlock mouthed at John’s neck.

“Well, we can’t have that.”

John twisted them and moved Sherlock towards the bed. Together the two men fell into the crisply made bed. The sheets were cool and fresh smelling. John growled. Soon they would smell of the blended scents of the alpha and omega. That is what John wanted.

They rolled together on the bed; only parting to remove another article of clothing. When Sherlock’s trim cotton shirt was removed, John pinned Sherlock’s hands to the mattress, lacing their fingers together. He licked up Sherlock’s neck and whispered in his ear.

“I want to spend hours taking you apart. Watching you.”

Sherlock groaned and arched his body up into John’s. The alpha could feel the bulge in the omega’s trousers.

“Don’t tease me.” Sherlock would never admit to begging, but John could hear the desperation in the younger man’s voice.

John lowered himself and slowly dragged his teeth along Sherlock’s collar bone. The tender skin there was tight over the bone. Sherlock bucked up the alpha. He had never wanted anything as badly as he want John Watson at that moment.

“John . . .” Sherlock’s voice was becoming harsh.

John moved lower and licked over the man’s exposed nipple. He leaned back and blew softly on it. John watched mesmerized as the skin puckered and wrinkled. He leaned in and lightly bit at the nub. Pulling gently until he heard Sherlock gasp and twist underneath him. The friction of Sherlock’s body against his member was delicious.

John let go of Sherlock’s hands. He moved lower over the omega’s body. Removing the rest of Sherlock’s clothes, he gave each inch of skin that passed underneath him his attention. He kissed or lick the pale flesh. Sometimes he bit or rubbed his nose across the skin until he received a response. Cataloging everything that Sherlock liked and everything that caused the unusual omega to gasp or plead. By the time John reached Sherlock’s groin, the omega’s body was blooming with petal pink love bites and bruises.

The room was soon filled with their combine scents. Exotic and sweet. Spicy and warm.

John looked up over Sherlock’s body as he nestled between the man’s legs. Sherlock’s mercurial eyes were watching John intensely. Their black orbs blown wide and open. Sherlock’s dark lips were parted as he breathed in. Letting their combined scents coat his tongue. A pale pink blush colored Sherlock’s sharp cheeks, as his brow wrinkled slightly with desperation. Sherlock looked like a fallen angel to John, wanton and beautiful. Offering and yet unattainable.

John thought the air had been sucked from his lungs. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by both want and need. He wanted Sherlock, body and soul. He needed to protect him. To shelter him and hide him away. Mark the man as his.

John twisted and nipped sharply at the tender skin on the inside of Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock gasped and John watched as the omega’s swollen length jumped. Precum rushed out of the slit and glistened the top. The scent of slick lofted up and drew John closer.

John pushed Sherlock’s knees up towards the man’s chest. He exposed Sherlock’s most private place for his own enjoyment. Slick was slipping out of the omega’s body. John leaned down and kitten licked the opening. Sherlock’s slick was sweet and spicy. Like a ripe apple or fall wine. Cinnamon and brown sugar. John thought he could get drunk on it.

He lapped more as Sherlock twisted and moaned wantonly above him. John pushed his tongue into the slick and was reward with Sherlock’s gasp and yelp.

“Oh, Jawn . . . please . . . please . . .”

John pulled back and replaced his tongue with his finger. Sherlock was tight. John wondered how many other alphas had been with the omega. A sudden and powerful wave of jealousy crashed into the alpha. His muscles flexed and bunched in anger. He didn’t want to think of other alphas being with Sherlock, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was overwhelmed with the need to make Sherlock his. To be forever linked to the remarkable omega.

John forced himself to look away. He needed to control his instincts. He hadn’t wanted to bond with any omega but he wanted Sherlock. That had to be something they decided on together. They would need to talk about such things. But John realized this was not the time for that. It was a discussion for later when his head was clearer. Not now.

His attention was brought back to Sherlock when the omega whined at him. John focused on Sherlock and what he was able to give the man right now. What he do to make Sherlock beg again. John added a second finger as his other hand wrapped around smaller omega penis and slowly started to stroke him.

Sherlock was babbling. He was moaning and begging John for more.

“Jawn . . . I want you. Please, I need to feel you.”

Sherlock looked up into John’s eyes and felt his very existence depended on being connected physically to the man. Sherlock had never felt this overwhelmed before. It was both terrifying and freeing. He felt the only thing that was tethering him to the earth at that moment was John. If he let go, Sherlock would float off into space and be lost forever. He felt the bloom within his chest growing. He wanted to refuse that it was there. To deny it, but he knew what it was. It was one thing Sherlock feared most in the world and one thing that he had always wanted. Love.

“Please, Jawn . . . I want to feel your knot.”

John groaned at the statement. He had heard it before. The lurid remark made by prostitutes and others. But hearing it from Sherlock was something different. It was offering. A request. It made John’s heart pound in his rib cage harder than he remembered. _It was almost like the day Mary told him she was pregnant._

John pushed those thoughts away. He couldn’t think of Sherlock and Mary in the same way. ‘ _He couldn’t!’_ He told himself.

He added a third finger and watched as Sherlock tried to roll away from the intrusion.

“Jawn, please . . . don’t make me beg.”

“I think you are already begging.” John smiled, but he removed his fingers and crawled up Sherlock’s flushed and heated body.

John leaned over the man and kissed him deeply. He laid down beside Sherlock then gently guided Sherlock onto his side. Pulling the man to spoon against his chest. Sherlock arched his back and presented himself. John growled in appreciation of the omega. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock shoulder and pulled the man back. John rubbed his heavy cock against Sherlock’s backside and guided it to his entrance.

Even after having three fingers in him, Sherlock’s entrance was tight. John nudged slightly over and over again until the head of his cock slipped inside the omega. Sherlock gasped slightly and tensed.

“Sherlock?” John asked softly.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t stop.” Sherlock twisted his face until it was buried into John’s elbow. “Please, don’t stop.”

John rolled his spine and pushed further into the wet heat. Sherlock felt wonderful. The perfect sleeve for John’s cock. Tight and hot. Slick gushed out of the man and eased the way. John started to rock more intently. Pushing himself deeper. Slowly, Sherlock picked up the rhythm and started moving with John, driving the alpha deeper into his body. Their scents grew and the room became saturated with the combined smells.

John buried his nose in Sherlock’s raven curls and felt his mind fall silent as instinct took over. He could feel his knot swell and slap heavily into Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock’s loud moans were driving him on. John pulled out as far as he could while keeping the head of his cock still seated, then thrust forward rapidly. The knot passed through the ring of muscles and into Sherlock’s body. The omega screamed as the knot swelled further. Sherlock’s orgasm was powerful. He squeezed down tightly on John, milking the alpha. John grunted and bit into the point of Sherlock’s shoulder. He stopped himself before he broke the skin but the man would have one hell of a bruise in the morning.

Both men were panting and shaking as wave after wave of new orgasms hit. Sherlock’s body milking everything John’s had. The knot holding it all inside the omega’s body.

After twenty minutes, Sherlock seemed to relax. “How long will your knot be inflated?”

“Depends.” John hummed as he kissed the bruise he left on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sometimes as long as forty minutes. Sometimes only ten. How long have your other lovers been?” He asked not really wanting to talk about the other alphas who had knotted Sherlock.

“I don’t have other lovers.” Sherlock said quietly.

“What?” John’s stomach twisted.

“I’ve never done this before.” Sherlock said calmly.

“Wait . . . are you telling me you were . . . Were you a virgin? Was this your first time?” John asked as new wave of possessiveness crashed into him.

“Yes . . . is that a problem?”

“Oh, God, Sherlock . . . why didn’t you tell me. I would have . . . I wouldn’t . . .” John’s words conflicted with his want for the omega.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with me because I was a virgin?” Sherlock asked feeling rejected and confused.

“NO! Never.” John answered truthfully. He wanted Sherlock. He wanted him badly. And he wanted him again even as he lay satisfied and still knotted to the man. “I would have just tried to make it better for you. I would have been more . . . considerate.”

Sherlock felt relieved. “I can honestly tell you, I don’t believe you could make it better. But if you want to try, I won’t be adverse to any attempt.”

John smiled. “I will endeavor to please.”

A few hours later, John show Sherlock that it could be better the second time around. And then the third.

~^+^~

Sherlock blinked his eyes as he woke up the next morning. He was warm and although sore, he felt relaxed. He laid contently in John’s embrace. He felt the alpha’s strong arms wrap protectively around his body. For the first time in his life, Sherlock felt at ease. He sighed and twisted to bring his nose closer to John’s hair. He breathed deep the warm spicy scent of the alpha. Sherlock hummed.

“I don’t normally sleep this late. I hate over sleeping.” John sighed sleepily, as he pulled Sherlock closer. He leaned into Sherlock and kissed whatever portion of the omega was closest to him.

 _‘I hate over sleeping.’_ Sherlock wondered if John needed to be somewhere. Or did he want to be somewhere else. Sherlock felt the first twinge of anxiety. The words ricocheted through Sherlock’s mind. _‘I don’t normally sleep this late’._ What did John mean? Was this unexpected? Not normal for him? Then Mycroft’s words came in like a poison. ‘ _Or do you simply leave in the morning before they wake?’_ Sherlock remembered a previous comment John had made. _‘I don’t sleep with omegas when they expect more from me other than a good time. A one off._ _I’m not looking for another mate.’_

Was that what John thought of Sherlock? That Sherlock only wanted to fuck and then forget about it. Was that what John wanted? He just wanted to have a good time. A onetime thing. No commitments, no promises.

Sherlock felt hollow. His stomach seemed to become a black hole pulling everything of Sherlock inward.

 _‘Quite acting childish, Sherlock.’_ Violet Holmes voice flooded Sherlock’s head. _‘Nobody wants an emotional omega.’_ He blinked away the tears. He twisted and rolled out of John’s arms. He swung his feet on the cold floor and sat on the edge of the bed trying to catch his breath.

John leaned up on his elbow and watched the omega, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a quick breath in through his nose to steady his nerves. “There is a murder I need to investigate. A rich industrialist who died unexpectedly in hospital.”

 _‘Better end it first. Don’t let him know that I’m not what he wants.’_ Sherlock stood up and grabbed his dressing gown. He threw it on and pulled the belt so tight, he almost rubbed his hands raw.

“You can take a shower before you go, if you want.” Sherlock quickly left the bedroom without looking back at John.

“What the fuck?” John whispered. His alpha nature was growling. He wanted to grab the younger omega and throw him back down on the bed, but that would be assault. He watched as Sherlock disappeared.

Sherlock quickly walked into the sitting room and looked around. He felt as if the world had tilted slightly. Everything was wrong. Like someone had come in during the night and substituted everything in the flat for something less perfect.

He glanced over at the couch, then at the stairs that led to Victor’s bedroom. He wondered if Victor had returned yet. He wondered where the omega could be. Sherlock went and sat down in his chair then decide he didn’t want to sit there. He quickly stood up and moved the desk and sat down. He stared down at the wooden top wondering how he could make himself disappear. He heard John cursing in the bedroom as he looked for his clothes. Every fiber within Sherlock’s being begged him to submit to the alpha. To kneel down and ask for forgiveness, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be that kind of omega. The kind his mother accused him of being. Frantic, Sherlock grabbed his laptop and pulled it closer. He opened it and started searching.

John came out of the bedroom and looked around the sitting room. The two men were alone. John had thought - had hoped that Sherlock had heard someone and that was the reason the omega was acting so strange. His alpha nature wanted to grab the omega. Hold him and bond to him, but it was obvious to John that wasn’t what Sherlock wanted.

“Sherlock, did something happen? I mean, are you alright?” John couldn’t believe how small his voice sounded. He growled deeply. He didn’t understand why the omega was rejecting him.

Sherlock ignored the sound, although he heard it. It made him want to drop from the chair and crawl over to John. To look up into those dark blue eyes and lose himself again.

“A man was murdered. Probably by his family. I need to get more data.” Sherlock said without looking at the alpha. He knew if he did, he would lose his resolve.

“Sherlock . . . what happened . . . to us?”

Sherlock glanced up quickly at John then looked away. He didn’t want to see the look on John’s face. There was doubt and confusion but also anger. Anger like his father used to show him.

“I’m sure you are needed elsewhere. Your men are probably waiting for you.” Sherlock said as he typed.

“Sherlock, speak to me. What is wrong? Did I do something? Did I hurt you?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and fought the tears back. The lump in his throat felt like it was suffocating him. He struggled then looked at John. The alpha could see the shine in the omega’s eyes. The intensity of the younger man’s stare.

“I am very busy, John. Please, let’s not make this more than it was . . .” the words hung in his throat. He looked away. “I’m sure you can find your own way out.”

John could see the pain in Sherlock’s face. He could hear it in the words. Then he thought maybe it was his imagination. Maybe he wanted more than Sherlock was willing to give him. He obviously thought the night before meant more than it did to Sherlock.

He was confused and angry. He wanted to reach out and comfort the omega. He wanted to pull Sherlock into a hug and let the young man nuzzle into him. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Unsure what to do, John fell back on to the familiar. He looked up into the middle distance. He squared his shoulders and executed a perfect ‘toe turn’. He marched out of the room and down the stairs. He never looked back. He didn’t say goodbye.

Sherlock watched him leave before he buried his face into his hands and cried.


	20. Musgrave Charity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musgrave Charity Gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get very dark at the end of this chapter. Mention of rape and sexual abuse.

It had been a week since John had walked out of 221 B. Sherlock was reclining on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. He was still dressed in his pajamas. He had worn the same pajamas for the last four days. He wrapped his silk dressing gown around him like a protective shield. His bare feet propped up on the arm of the sofa. He had taken to sleeping on the couch. He didn’t want to return to his bed.

He reached up and pressed down on his shoulder. He could no longer feel the bruise John had placed on his skin. The mark John had given him was gone. With the fading of the bruise, Sherlock felt less worthwhile. He was useless and discarded.

Sherlock knew he had no one else to blame but himself. He knew he had sent John away. It was what John would have wanted. It was what he had done with every other omega he had slept with. John was an alpha. He didn’t feel the same as the omega did. He wasn’t as deeply affected. Or that was what Sherlock told himself.

Sherlock tried to remove the room marked ‘John’ from his mind palace but couldn’t. Numerous gold-gilt frames hung on the blue walls now. Photographs of moments with John. His smile when they were laughing together. His scowl when John was arguing with Mycroft. John’s eyes turning dark as he stared at Sherlock wearing the bedsheet. The expression on John’s face as he slipped into Sherlock’s body. The look of ecstasy as John climaxed. They were all there. Every precious moment and every nuance of John’s personality was on display in the room in Sherlock’s mind palace.

He couldn’t remove the room so he tried locking the doors. Preventing himself from entering the room, but that didn’t work either. As soon as he turned the key to lock the door, the door would explode outwards and John’s voice, his laughter and the sounds of his moans, would pour out of the room and overwhelm Sherlock again.

Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around his chest and rolled over onto his side. He could hear Mycroft’s voice plaguing him in his head. ‘ _John Watson is only spending time around you for one reason. He will take what he wants and leave you afterwards. Sherlock, in your own best interest, you should break this off sooner rather than later.’_

Why was Sherlock so ignorant? He had thought Mycroft was speaking of his virginity. Something he never considered valuable but yet something he had maintained even though many had wanted to claim it. But what John took was something far more valuable and far more enigmatic than what some ludicrously called Sherlock’s innocence. John Watson, soldier and healer, took Sherlock’s heart.

He never believed he had one. He thought he was immune to the failings of human emotions. He didn’t worry about ever making a decision based on sentiment, but as he pushed John away, trying to protect himself from the pain of the rejection he knew was coming, he realized it was too late. John had already conquered him. He had broken through the walls of Sherlock’s defenses and captured the young man’s heart.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath as he tried to control his body. It wanted John again. It craved the man. “How could I have been so foolish?” Sherlock said to himself.

“Because you didn’t listen to me.” Mycroft’s voice cut through Sherlock’s depression.

Sherlock’s eyes sprang open. He twisted his head up to see his brother standing in the doorway. Sherlock’s pout turned into deep loathing at seeing the man there.

“Get out, Mycroft. You are not welcome.”

“Regardless, I need to speak to you.” Mycroft came into the flat. He drew his finger across the chair and studied the amount of dust clinging to his fingertip. He sighed then sat down. “This pinning for your doctor must end. You are behaving pitifully.”

“If you don’t care for the way I behave, then leave.”

“Tonight is the gala for the Musgrave Charity Fund.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going.” Sherlock rolled over onto his opposite side. Showing his back to his brother.

“Sherlock, it is imperative that we both attend. It was one of father’s important charities and we are expected.” Mycroft said exasperated.

“Charity? More like tax dodge. I refuse.” Sherlock’s voice was muffled by the cushions of the couch.

“You can not refuse. We are both on the committee. Tonight the recipients for the grants will be announced. We are both expected.”

“You can hand out the money yourself. You don’t need me there.” Sherlock pouted.

“You are mistaken. I may not want you there but I do need you there. You are the omega face of the Holmes. Now enough of this sulking. You knew what kind of alpha John Watson was. You have no one but yourself to blame for your mistake.”

Sherlock threw himself off the couch and glared at his brother.

“John was not a mistake!”

Mycroft smirked. “Caring in not an advantage, brother dear.”

“How would you know? Have you ever cared for anyone or anything?”

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. His eyes diverted from his brother’s, then he looked back. “Whether or not I have felt the pangs of an emotional connection is irrelevant. What is important right now is that we fulfill father’s wish and support this charity. My driver will pick you at eight. Please be appropriately dressed.”

“And if I’m not?” Sherlock glared back at his brother.

“Then I will be greatly displeased as well as mummy.” Mycroft stared at his brother for a moment. An image of a much younger Sherlock came to him. The image Sherlock crawling up into his lap when he was only a few years old. A Sherlock who could admit he need his older brother and sought him out. The images softened Mycroft’s anger. “Sherlock, John left. He is no longer here. He doesn’t wish to be here. Allowing John Watson to dictate your life even after he is gone shows a weakness of character we both know you do not have.”

Mycroft saw Sherlock’s lips begin to tremble.

“Sherlock, I know you won’t believe me, but I am here for you. Whenever and whatever you need.”

“Get out, Mycroft.” Sherlock’s voice broke.

“I will see you at eight. Please do not be late.” Mycroft rose and walked out of the room.

Sherlock refused to escort him out. He stood in the center of the room. He glanced up and looked down the hallway at his bedroom’s closed door. For a brief moment, he wondered if it still smelled of John and himself. If anything of their night together remained. Sherlock blinked back his tears as he went to go get ready.

~^+^~

The grand ballroom of the Langham was exquisite. The tall white columns that lined opposite walls were accent lite with blue and lavender spots. The presentation tables spaced around the room were covered with white linen tablecloths and gold lame. The crowds were the most affluent members of London society. John felt like a fish out of water.

He stepped into the room and glanced around. There was soft music playing in the background, but he didn’t know why. The various conversations was drowning out most of the notes. There was at least a hundred people attending the gala. The men were dress in tuxedos and the women were wearing evening gowns. The cost of extravagant jewelry in the room would put a sizable dent in the NHS debt.

“Explain to me again why I’m here.” John whispered into the microphone in his ear.

John could hear James laughing softly through the ear mic. “Because you are prettier in a tux than me.”

John growled. He knew he was there because with James’ scar, the major would be more memorable than the captain. John put on the tuxedo and forced himself to look as non-threatening as he could. He walked into the room with other guests to the gala. Just another nameless alpha in the crowd. He took the offered glass of champagne and started to study the room.

John and his crew were planning on robbing an art exhibit that was going to be displayed in the room the following month. The floor plans they had for the hotel did not have the security improvements for the grand ballroom. John needed to identify the locations of every camera and every motion-detector in the room.

He was concentrating on ceiling when there was a sudden burst of camera flashes. His eyes shifted to the main door of the room and at the men who had just entered. Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

“Oh, shit.” John snarled.

“What is it?” James asked over the ear mic.

“Trouble.”

~^+^~

Sherlock hated cameras. He ducked as the barrage of flashes hit him. He started to turn to leave, when Mycroft wrapped his hand around Sherlock elbow and pulled him back into the room.

“Smile, Sherlock.” Mycroft said through gritted teeth. “Remember, this is for charity.”

“You don’t expect me to honestly believe that.”

Mycroft pulled Sherlock through the crowd, nodding and smiling at people who greeted them. Salutations and solicitations were offered from every direction. Sherlock walked stiffly beside his brother. Mycroft’s hand still wrapped around Sherlock’s elbow like a vise.

“There is someone I wish you to meet.” Mycroft said as he directed Sherlock across the room.

“Who?”

“Sir Henry Baskerville.” Mycroft said. “His uncle, Charles Baskerville, has recently passed away and Henry has inherited the title and the Devonshire estates.”

Sherlock pulled his arm away from Mycroft and glared at him. “You promised you wouldn’t arrange any more marriages.”

“I’m arranging nothing. I just wish to introduce you to the man. He is very influential and may have a political future if he is guided correctly.” Mycroft said dismissively.

“You mean if you guide him. No, I refuse to meet him.” Sherlock growled. He spun on his heels and marched across the ballroom to the opposite side.

Sherlock refused an offered glass of champagne as he fumed at his brother’s attempt to find him a new husband. Sherlock hadn’t wanted to come to the charity event and he realized, too late, that he was only there to meet this Henry Baskerville. Sherlock’s eyes started to scan the various guests as he tried to identify the man so he could avoid him.

He felt a sudden tight grip on his upper arm. The alpha grabbing him held him so tight it was painful. Sherlock twisted to complain when he saw Archibald Rampant, Victor Trevor’s fiancé.

“Archibald, let go of me.” Sherlock demanded.

“No.” The overweight alpha growled. He pulled Sherlock from the crowd and towards the service door for the ballroom. “I want to speak to you.”

Sherlock tried to pull away, but Rampant wouldn’t let go of him. He squeezed Sherlock’s upper arm tightly. Pinching off the blood supply as he pushed the man through the door and into a service corridor. Rampant shoved Sherlock down the hall and through a set of doors into a private room. The door swung closed behind them.

“Where is he?” Rampant growled.

“Who? Victor?” Sherlock asked looking Rampant over.

The alpha’s pudgy face was florid. His normally pale round cheeks were flushed red and splotchy. Sherlock wondered if it was alcohol or drugs. The alpha gave off the scent cue of anger just before reaching a rage. His sour smell filled the small room and was overpowering. Sherlock tried to breathe through his parted lips to avoid succumbing to the alpha’s scent.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. Victor, the little bitch. Where is he?” Rampant spit the words out at Sherlock.

“He was gone for three days when I received a note from him. He said he was going to France with a friend.” Sherlock said. He yanked his arm away from Rampant but the alpha immediately wrapped his meaty fingers around Sherlock’s neck. The pudgy digits pressed deep into the omega’s flesh.

“I received the same note. Where did he go in France? Who is he with?” Rampant demanded.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock scowled, as he brought his hands up to try and pull the alpha’s hand off his neck.

“I will crush your throat if you don’t tell me, you little bitch. TELL ME WHO HE IS WITH!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Sherlock’s attention was fixed on Rampant. He didn’t notice the door open behind the alpha. Suddenly, the alpha screamed. His hold slacken on Sherlock’s neck, but he didn’t let go. Sherlock saw John standing behind the alpha. John’s eyes were cold and hard. His jaw locked and his face emotionless.

“If you don’t want your shoulder dislocated, let go of the omega.” John’s voice was cold and vicious.

The soldier had stepped up behind the other alpha and grabbed his left arm. John had twisted it up behind Rampant’s back and was pressing it between his shoulder blades as he spoke.

Rampant tried to yank his arm back but John held it tight. Sweat broke out over the alpha’s plump face. His eyes grew larger and Sherlock could see a yellow tint to them. But the alpha wouldn’t let go of Sherlock’s throat.

“He won’t tell me where Victor is.” Rampant gasped.

“Maybe because he doesn’t know.” John said as he twisted the man’s arm up higher. The other alpha yelped in pain.

“Let go of me! He’s just a fuckin’ omega. He’s a nobody!” Rampant shouted.

“He’s my omega.” John growled and twisted the man’s arm again. There was an audible pop then Archibald Rampant screamed. His fingers pulled away from Sherlock’s neck as he collapsed and fell to the floor. He reached and grabbed his broken humerus. John sneered at the man, before he brought the heel of his shoe down hard on the man’s shoulder. Kicking the man’s joint apart and separating his shoulder. Rampant screamed again.

Sherlock stared down at the alpha in agony. Abruptly, John grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and pulled him over the prone man and out the door.

“John?!”

“Shut it.” John snapped and pulled Sherlock down the hallway.

~^+^~

Mycroft Holmes was speaking to the MP from Edgware when he noticed Lady Smallwood leaving the gala. She smiled at Mycroft before she wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders. Mycroft started to step towards her when the dashing Sir Henry Baskerville walked up to him.

“Mycroft, good evening.” Sir Henry still maintained his Canadian accent.

“Sir Henry, always a pleasure.”

Sir Henry laughed softly. “I’m sure there are numerous people who would disagree with you. You insisted I be here, so, tell me where is Sherlock? You’ve made him sound quite remarkable.”

“I don’t believe I have but he is . . .” Mycroft scanned the room. He didn’t see Sherlock anywhere. Mycroft sighed and internally criticized himself for letting Sherlock take two steps away from him. “Is not here tonight, I’m afraid. Other commitments.”

Sir Henry caught the shift in Mycroft’s demeanor. He smiled knowingly. “Of course. Well, maybe some other time. I will be in London for the rest of week. Good luck tonight with the charity.”

“Thank you, Sir Henry.” Mycroft waited until the man had turned away. He thinned his lips as he scanned the crowd again. _How in the world had Sherlock disappeared so easily?_ He thought to himself.

He start to march across the ballroom to see if Sherlock was out in the hallway leading into the ballroom, when one of the hotel waiters came up to him.

“Sir, I was told to give this to you.” The thin beta waiter said.

“Thank you.” Mycroft took the note and nodded his head. Opening the note, Mycroft found a keycard and a handwritten note.

_“I have taken the Infinity Suite. E.”_

Mycroft recognized Lady Smallwood’s handwriting. The note was scented with her perfume. So far the evening had been a complete disaster. The guests at the gala were boring and the conversations insipid. His planned introduction between Sherlock and Sir Henry didn’t happen. And Sherlock had behaved like a child and run off. It had been a miserable evening but maybe things were looking up.

He glanced around the room again. He didn’t see Sherlock anywhere. Mycroft looked back at the note and decided it was time for him to say to hell with everyone else and to do something for himself. He slipped the note and keycard into his pocket. He slowly walked around the room and spoke to each of the major contributors to his late father’s charity. Then as he passed by the main door of the ballroom, he turned and left.

The Infinity Suite was on the second floor of the Langham Hotel. Mycroft entered the opulent suite. Mozart was playing softly in the background. He walked down the hallway towards a set of double doors. To the left of the doors was the master bedroom. To the right, a small hallway leading off to another set of door. In front of Mycroft was the living room for the suite. It was a semi-circle room with a bank of windows along the curve. The highlight of the view was the All Souls Church and its regency style pinnacle.

Standing in the living room was another hotel waiter.

“Forgive me sir. Lady Smallwood was called away. She will be returning in less than an hour and requested that you stay.”

Mycroft hesitated. He thought it might be unwise to be waiting around for a possible assignation if the hotel staff knew he was here. Then again, he was an adult alpha without any mate waiting for him at home. He was beyond reproach in his reputation. He stepped further into the room.

“She has ordered Champagne and caviar. She felt you would appreciate the vintage.”

Mycroft’s eyes perused over the bottle. Bollinger’s 1999. An excellent year. He looked to see the caviar was Beluga. Mycroft smiled internally as he hummed.

“Thank you. Please open the bottle.” Mycroft strolled passed the young waiter and went to the window to look out over Langham Place. The lights shined up into the grey stone columns of All Souls. He heard the pop of the Champagne bottle and gurgle as it was being poured out. The waiter came over and held a silver tray out with the crystal flute sitting upon it.

Mycroft took the glass and sipped it. The wine was sharp and dry. He smiled outwardly this time.

“Yes, that will do nicely.”

“Good evening, sir. If you require anything else, please do not hesitate to ring room service.” The young beta turned and left the suite.

Mycroft went to the table and prepared a bellini with the caviar. The rich black fish eggs were decadent and crème fraîche was silky. Mycroft appreciated the rich treat. The Bollinger’s accented the saltiness of the caviar perfectly.

Mycroft slipped off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. He made himself a second bellini and sat down on the leather couch. He finished his glass of Champagne and felt a little tired. He set the flute down on the coffee table in front of him. Mycroft yawned as his eyes began to flutter close. He wondered how much longer it would be before Elizabeth Smallwood would return. He wondered exactly what she was hoping for tonight. If the Champagne and caviar were anything to go by, it was going to a memorable night indeed.

~^+^~

Victor Trevor lay on the bed. He ached and his mind was foggy. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there. He wasn’t even sure where he was. It had blurred together from one nightmare into another. He remembered going out and meeting his new friend at the club. He remembered the night and dancing. The colored lights and the music. He remember drinking and Jim giving him as much cocaine as he wanted. Victor was happy. He was enjoying himself. Jim brought him a drink. It tasted like pineapples, then nothing. From that point on, his memories swirled together into a nightmarish haze.

He remembered waking up as a big, heavy alpha climbed on top of him. At first he thought it was Jim, but he man was blond. He was too muscular to be Jim. His shoulders were broad and there was a scar on his face. His eyes were watery grey.

Victor screamed and told him to get off. The blond was hurting him. Victor turned his head to see Jim sitting in a chair, watching. Jim was smiling as the blond wrapped his fingers around Victor’s neck before entering his body.

There had been other alphas. They had done sick and perverse things to him. They had hit him, laughed at him, and raped him. Faceless alphas. All blending together into monsters who did this to him while Jim watched.

Victor rolled sideways over the edge of the bed. He vomited. Only a thin stream of bile came out. It burned his throat and soured in his mouth. He needed water, but was afraid to ask for help. The blond might come back. Or maybe one of the other monsters.

He couldn’t sit up. He struggled to pull himself off the bed. He fell to the floor with a crash. Victor heard a door open and the sound of someone entering the room.

“What have you done now?” The voice sounded exasperated.

Victor twisted his head to look up. Jim was standing over him. His hands were crossed over his chest.

“Stupid little omega. On the floor where you belong.” Jim said. Then he turned and spoke to someone outside of Victor’s view. “He is waiting for you.”

Victor watched as someone else walked over to Jim. He closed his eyes when he realized it wasn’t the big blond again. This man didn’t look threatening.

“A present for you.” Jim said. “Please enjoy yourself and finish him up.”

Victor opened his eyes and looked up at the small man as he bent over the omega. The man’s face was pudgy and round. His hair was receding and blue eyes looked so very sad. Maybe he would help Victor.

“Please . . .” Victor gasped as he reached out to the man.

The man smiled and softly dragged his fingers through Victor’s hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Victor smiled. He promised he would never tell the man he looked like a troll.


	21. Something Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John reconnect while Mycroft discover he's in a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in the middle of this chapter. If not your thing, skip the after the first break.

As a guest at the hotel, John could get into the charity event in the ballroom easier than just walking in off the street. That was why he had a room in the Langham. And that was where he had dragged Sherlock to after he had broken the shoulder of Archibald Rampant.

Neither man had said anything as they rushed through the back hallways and service corridors of the elegant building. John still hand his hand tightly wrapped around the omega’s wrist as he stormed into his hotel room. He slammed the door closed as he tossed Sherlock across the room. Sherlock stumbled but caught himself before he fell. He turned to see the alpha glaring at him. John’s face locked in anger and coldness. His normal warm inviting blue eyes were frigid.

John’s stern face crushed Sherlock. More than anything in the world, he wanted to look in John’s inviting face again. He wanted to see the azure blue eyes that reminded him of warm spring day. But that was not what he saw now. He looked away feeling ashamed. He didn’t understand why. No alpha had made him feel this way. No one had made him feel inadequate since his father. He hated it. Sherlock pulled his shoulders back and looked up into John’s dark eyes. The intensity was too much, Sherlock took a submissive stance for the first time in his adult life. Tipping his neck slightly to expose it to the alpha.

“John . . .” He wanted to ask for forgiveness, but his last thread of pride wouldn’t break. Instead, Sherlock tried to explain. “He was asking about Victor . . .”

“I don’t care.” John snapped at the younger man.

Sherlock took a step back. He fought to stay on his feet and not kneel. The alpha pheromones flooding the room.

“You stopped him from hurting me. If you didn’t care, why did you stop him?” Sherlock asked hesitantly, taking fleeting glances up at the alpha.

“Because he was hurting you.” John said simply. “Why did you send me away?”

Even with his head bowed, Sherlock looked more intently at John. He saw pain in John’s eyes he hadn’t noticed before.

“I thought . . . because it was what you wanted.”

“When did I tell you I wanted to be kicked to the kerb?”

“I thought . . . How many omegas have you been with?” Sherlock asked a little bolder than before.

“Irrelevant.”

“No, it is not. How many omegas have you slept with then left the next day? How many have you been in a long term relationship with?”

John blinked. He shifted slightly like he had been slapped. “Mycroft? You told me to leave because of what your brother said?”

“You don’t sleep with omegas when they want more than just a good time.” Sherlock repeated John’s words back to him.

John growled and took a step closer. Sherlock ducked his head again.

“You called me your omega . . .” Sherlock whispered. Reminding John what he had said to Rampant.

“Were you really a virgin or did you just say that?” John asked suddenly.

Sherlock blushed and stared back up at the man. “Is it important?”

“You lived on the streets when you were younger. You were a junkie. How did you get by except by selling yourself to any knot willing to buy your next hit?”

John watched the shift in Sherlock’s demeanor. He lifted his whole head up and hardened his features. Apparently this was a subject Sherlock had argued about before.

“Who felt the need to inform you of my past indiscretions . . . Mycroft or Lestrade?”

“Again, irrelevant.” John said still glaring at the younger man.

“I’m intelligent enough to avoid becoming a prostitute to acquire my drugs. Yes, I lived on the streets. Yes, I was a junkie . . .”

“Still are from what I saw.”

“Use does not mean addiction.” Sherlock tipped his head back and snarled at John.

“So says the addict.”

“You are still avoiding the question!” Sherlock shouted.

“What question?” John shouted back.

“You called me your omega!”

“That is not a question.” John took another step forward.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. “Why is it important to you that I was a virgin?”

“Because . . .” John couldn’t control himself any more. He wrapped his hand around the nape of Sherlock neck and pulled the man’s face close to his. “Because, I need to know that no one else will ever have you like that but me.”

He pulled Sherlock into a kiss. Intense and needy. Plunging deep into the omega’s mouth. Tasting the cinnamon and brown sugar. His growl this time was of satisfaction.

Sherlock melted into his body, leaning heavily on the strong alpha. His thin frame overwhelmed by John’s broader chest and strong shoulders. Sherlock could feel the alpha’s muscles through his tuxedo. The idea of John concealing his greater strength and his alpha demeanor made Sherlock desire him more.

“I don’t want anyone else to have me either.” Sherlock’s lips brushed against John’s.

John’s hand moved up the front of Sherlock’s tux. He unbuttoned the jacket and slipped his hands under it. Pushing the bespoke tuxedo off the man’s shoulders.

“I called you my omega because I want you as my omega.” John’s voice rumbled over Sherlock.

The omega shivered and moaned softly. “But you said . . .”

“We both have said a lot of things, but it seem we both want something else.” John reached down and palmed Sherlock’s erection. The omega let out a completely lurid moan and collapsed into John’s arms.

Sherlock’s long fingers fumbled as they reached for John’s bowtie. He struggled to remove it before going to the buttons on John’s tuxedo.

“I know I’ve said I don’t want or need an alpha, but I want . . .”

John stopped Sherlock from saying anything else as he pushed his lips into Sherlock’s. He kissed and nipped at the younger man’s mouth. Sherlock’s shirt fell to the floor and John moved over to Sherlock’s neck. Kissing down the man’s collar bone and across his chest.

“Tomorrow . . . we’ll discuss our future tomorrow. Right now, I need to get you into bed. I need to feel you around me.” John growled.

A big smile came to Sherlock’s face. “I couldn’t agree more with you.”

~^+^~

They left the curtains open. The lights of late night London shone into the room and onto Sherlock’s body. The omega’s flawless ivory skin paled in the light, turning so pale it almost appeared translucent. Sherlock was kneeling over John’s lap. His long frame stretched bowstring tight, as he rode the alpha’s cock. Sherlock leaned back, placing his hands on John’s muscular thighs. Rocking back and forth, he groaned. His entrance being teased by John’s grown knot.

John watched as Sherlock looked up, elongating his body. Sherlock’s own swollen member slapping luridly against his abdomen as Sherlock bounced up and down on the alpha. John reached over and took the length in his hand and started to stroke it in time to Sherlock’s rhythm. The younger omega cursing and swearing as he finally was able to push John’s swollen knot into his body.

“Fuck, oh fuck!” Sherlock groaned as he felt his orgasm hit him hard.

The omega’s cum painted across John’s chest. Over the valleys and dips of his muscles and across the puckered skin of his scar.

John felt Sherlock’s body try and milk him. He grabbed Sherlock’s hips hard. Finger size bruises formed on the pale white skin as John shoved up into the omega over and over again. Sherlock moaned and collapsed forward, smearing the cum between them. John growled and rolled the two of them. Sherlock yelped as the knot pulled against his sensitive opening. John started thrusting harder into the man. Going from deep to deeper.

Sherlock was overwhelmed. He was unable to do anything but relent to the alpha. He struggled to lift his legs around John’s waist and wrap his arms around the man’s shoulders. John pushed into him over and over again, then John’s knot swelled more. Staining Sherlock’s muscles. The omega screamed as he felt the hot rush of semen flow into him. The pulsing of John’s release deep inside his body.

“Mine.” John growled as Sherlock whimpered underneath him. He buried his face into Sherlock’s neck breathing in the omega’s scent. “Mine.”

“Yours . . . only yours.” Sherlock whispered as he dragged his fingers through the damp short strands of John’s blond hair. “Always . . . yours.”

~^+^~

The sound of pounding pulled Mycroft from his sleep. His head felt like it was in a vise grip. A drum mallet hammered from the inside out of his skull. He leaned forward and rested his face in his hands. The pounding continued. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. He recognized the living room of the Infinity Suite of the Langham. The sun was shining in the bank of windows behind him. He glanced at his watch. It was seven in the morning. He had apparently fallen asleep, but where was Elizabeth?

Mycroft struggled to his feet. The pounding continued. He stumbled as he walked toward the door of the room. Just as he reached the double doors, the front door of the suite swung open. Several men came rushing into the room. Two men in plain clothes, two police constables and someone who appeared to be the hotel manager.

“Are you Mycroft Holmes?” A man in an inexpensive suit addressed Mycroft.

The other men who came with him started to spread out and search the hotel suite. Mycroft straightened himself and pulled the points of his waistcoat down.

“I’m Mycroft Holmes. What is wrong?” His tongue felt too large for his mouth. He wondered how much alcohol he had drunk the night before.

“Detective Inspector Dimmit, CID. There was a report of a disturbance in these rooms.” The man in the cheap suit said.

Mycroft shook his head trying to clear it. “You must be mistaken. I have been here since midnight and nothing has happened.”

The door to the second bedroom opened and one of the constables came out.

“In here, sir.”

Mycroft turned to see the stern look on the man’s face. Dimmit waved a constable to stand next to Mycroft. The constable took Mycroft by the elbow and escorted him into the second bedroom.

Laying on the bed was the body of Victor Trevor. Bloody and bruised and quite dead.

“Do you know who this man is?” DI Dimmit asked.

“Victor Trevor.” Mycroft said confused as to why Victor was there.

“Who is he to you?” Dimmit asked.

“He is my brother’s flatmate. I do not have any personal connection to him.”

“He’s dead in your hotel suite, sir, and you don’t have any personal connection to him?” Dimmit sounded doubtful.

“This is not my hotel suite. I didn’t reserve it.” Mycroft quickly said. He didn’t want to mention Elizabeth Smallwood but she would quickly be drawn in to it.

“Excuse me but you did reserve this room. We received the specific request for theses rooms from your office.” The hotel manager corrected Mycroft.

Mycroft blinked in confusion. “No . . . that can’t be correct.”

“Mister Holmes, you will be needing to come with us to New Scotland Yard. There are some questions we need to be asking you. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." Dimmit said.

“Are you arresting me?” Mycroft said indignantly.

“Yes, sir. We are.” Dimmit turned to speak to the constable holding Mycroft’s arm. “Take him in. Don’t let him contact anyone until I get there.”

“I refuse to leave until I speak to my solicitor.” Mycroft straightened his back.

“You will be able to call him after you are processed.”

Dimmit turned his back and started giving orders for a forensic team to be called. Mycroft was pulled out of hotel suite and out into the street. A photographer was already there to take a picture of him being thrown into the back of a police car.

~^+^~

The sun light was coming in through the windows of John’s hotel room. He shifted in the bed only to find himself pinned by the omega who was presently wrapped around him like an octopus. John smiled as he looked down at the dark curls that were snug against the crease of his shoulder. Their scents mingling and smell of sex was still heavy in the air.

The ringing of a phone was unwelcome. John stretched and heard the groaning complaint from the man asleep in his arms. John fished the phone out of the pocket of Sherlock’s trousers.

“It’s Mycroft. Ignore it.” Sherlock mumbled into John’s chest.

John looked at the name. He frowned. “It’s Lestrade.”

Sherlock quickly lifted his head and reached for the phone. He checked the caller ID then answered the call.

“This better be at least a ten, otherwise I’m not even getting out of bed.” Sherlock said as he snuggled closer to John.

“Get to the Langham, now. I’ll explain there.” Lestrade disconnected the call.

Sherlock pulled the phone away and looked at its screen.

“What is it?” John asked as he slowly started to stroke down Sherlock’s back having smelled the anxiety scent coming off the omega.

“Something bad.”


	22. Tea and Symphathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets called in to consult on a murder. Moriarty proceeds with his plan to destroy Mycroft in one of the most painful ways possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very dark chapter. Be prepared for graphic description of violence.

Sherlock and John got off the lift and found Greg Lestrade waiting for them in the lobby. The older alpha was surprised that the two entered from the inside the hotel instead of the street entrance. As soon as the two men approached, Lestrade noticed the alpha scent on Sherlock. His jaw set angrily as he glared at John. The soldier pulled his shoulders back and returned the same hard stare at the police officer. John was not going to be intimidated.

“What was so important you needed to disturb us?” Sherlock asked ignoring the posturing of the two alphas.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to see Sherlock again.” Lestrade glared at John.

John frowned at Lestrade as he ignored the man’s comment. Sherlock glanced back and forth between the two alphas.

“Well?” Sherlock pushed.

“Upstairs. You are needed.” Lestrade said cryptically as he continued to glare at John. “Follow me.”

The three men got off the lift and walked down the hall to the Infinity Suite. They paused by a table and Lestrade grabbed a pair of blue moisture-proof coveralls. Sherlock grabbed a pair and handed it to John.

“You want me to go in?” John asked as he glanced down at the sealed bag with the coveralls.

“Yes, I will need a doctor’s professional opinion.” Sherlock said. He glanced down at his phone and read a text. He frowned and slipped the phone into his pocket.

Once dressed, the three men entered the suite. Several members of a forensic team were working in the suite. The blue clad individuals were dusting surfaces and photographing evidence. The room smelled sour. The hint of fingerprint dust, stale alcohol and death.

Sherlock slowed his steps as he pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. He paused at the door and glanced around the foyer of the suite. He looked to his right and at the suite’s kitchen. The tech in the small room was bagging up dishes and an empty champagne bottle.

Sherlock stepped further into the suite and Lestrade directed him into the bedroom.

“We were told you knew this omega.” Lestrade said.

Sherlock looked down on the naked dead body of Victor Trevor. His pale skin was marred with various bruises. He had bite marks on his shoulders and neck. He had a swollen black eye. It was obvious from the position of the body, he had been raped.

Anger swept through John. How dare the detective show this to Sherlock without warning him first? John stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on the small of Sherlock’s back. But the omega didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he moved slowly towards the bed. Carefully walking around, looking at the carpet then the bedding, before finally looking at the victim.

“I see your idiot forensic team destroyed any footprints around the bed. It looks like they also disturbed the sheets. I won’t be able to glean any information from there.” Sherlock said as he pulled out a magnifying glass.

“I asked if you knew him.” Lestrade’s voice was harsh and demanding.

John growled at him, but the detective ignored him.

“His name is Victor Trevor. He is . . . was my flatmate. We shared 221B together. He left me a note a week ago stating he was going to France with someone he met. I do not know who. But more interesting is the fact his fiancé was here last night. Archibald Rampant. Rampant was looking for him and he is violent.” Sherlock said as he leaned over the naked man, studying a bruise over the man’s lips.

“We already have a suspect.” Another man came into the room. He was wearing a cut-rate suit and was frowning at Lestrade. “Who are these men and why are you here?”

“He is my consultant. And I told you earlier, Mycroft Holmes would not do something like this.” Lestrade said.

Sherlock stood up straight. His mouth slightly open as he stared at the two police officers.

“Mycroft? You think Mycroft was involved?”

Dimmit turned his attention to Sherlock. “He reserved this room. He was found here with the dead body. And he has no alibi.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He stepped away from the body and circled around the room. He noticed the bathroom door open. He marched over and looked inside the room. A mirror was laying on the marble counter. A white powdery residue was evident on the mirror. There were also another empty bottle of alcohol and several small medicine vials scattered across the counter and spilled pills. Dirty towels were tossed on the floor.

Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom and looked back at the bed. “Staged.”

He moved swiftly out of the bedroom as the police officers and John followed him. Sherlock glanced at the other bedroom. The room looked pristine. The bed was still made. The bathroom untouched.

“What do you mean ‘staged’?” Dimmit shouted at the omega.

They followed Sherlock into the living room. The dark haired omega looked at the champagne flutes that were inside plastic evidence bags. Sherlock grabbed the bag and tore the ‘shatter tape’.

“Stop! What do you think you are doing? And what did you mean ‘staged’!?” Dimmit rushed forward to grab the evidence out of Sherlock’s hands.

Sherlock twisted his body to protect the evidence bags. He lifted the bag to his nose and smelled. He placed his glove finger inside the bag and touched the inside of the glass.

“Have these been fingerprinted?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course. I don’t know who you think you are, but put that down, damn it!” Dimmit turned and glared at Lestrade. “GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”

Sherlock grabbed the second bag with the other champagne flute in it and repeated tearing the bag open and sniffing and touching the glass.

“Let me guess. This one has Mycroft Holmes’ fingerprints on it and this one has Victor’s.” Sherlock said as he lifted the first bag then the second.

“Preliminary examination states that.” Dimmit sneered at the omega.

“Well your preliminary examination also should have told you that this whole scene has been staged. Victor more than likely died in that room. There is evidence that he vomited on the floor beside the bed. But the drugs in the bathroom, that was window dressing. If he was here for a party, the drugs would be out here where food and champagne were, or they would have been on the nightstand next to the bed. If you are partying you don’t leave the party favors hidden away in the bathroom. You have them within easy reach.” Sherlock said.

“Is that from personal experience?” Dimmit mocked.

Sherlock tipped his head slightly and glared. “If you have looked carefully at the glasses, you would have seen that the one with Mycroft’s fingerprints was used in the last twelve hours. The inside of it is still sticky where the sweet alcohol evaporated. Victor’s glass is dry. He used that glass but not in the last two days. Also the smell of Mycroft’s champagne is off. There is a chemical smell underneath the alcohol. Not rohypnol but something like it. You should be able to find it in Mycroft’s urine if you do the testing quickly.”

“So you are claiming that Holmes didn’t murder that omega?” Dimmit argued.

“There are three different size of bruises on Trevor. At least three different alphas raped him. Do a thorough rape kit and you will find that Mycroft’s DNA is nowhere on Victor. Also, the bruises are of different ages. Victor was assaulted over time. Several days. Days in which Mycroft Holmes will have an impeachable alibi. Finally, the person who killed him had small hands. Smaller than Mycroft’s.” Sherlock turned to Lestrade. “Have Mycroft do the drug test. It will prove his innocence.”

Sherlock took the latex gloves off with a snap. He didn’t even check to see if there was a dumbfounded expression on the detective’s face. Sherlock turned and marched out of the suite with John rushing behind him.

“That was amazing.” John whispered as they got onto the elevator.

“Was it?” Sherlock asked surprised.

“Yes it was. Totally. And you know it was amazing.” John smiled at the omega.

Sherlock preened under the compliment. “I’m just sorry I won’t be there for Mycroft’s urine test. Being forced to pee in a cup is such a life assuring moment. I’m sorry I’m going to miss it.”

~^+^~

Violet Holmes set the tea service down on the table in front of the two men. She smiled at them.

“I can’t believe that you are interested in my family.” Violet Holmes said as she poured the tea into her mother’s Royal Albert ‘Old County Rose’ bone china. “We aren’t that unusual.”

“Oh, Mrs. Holmes, you are too humble. Your sons are quite remarkable. One, an important member of the government and the other, living his life outside the normal expectations of an omega.” Culverton Smith returned Violet’s smile.

“But a show on the telly?” Violet chortled.

“Yes, it will be a new show highlighting unusual families. What makes them different from the ‘run of the mill’ boring broods. How the parents raised them differently, and how they behave differently.” Smith continued. He looked around the farm house living room. “Where is Mister Holmes? I’m sure he would be greatly interested in this.”

Violet pouted and sighed. “My dear husband died ten years ago. It was quite sudden.”

“Oh, my deepest apologies.” Culverton Smith oozed. “So, he left you to raise your children alone, did he?”

“Yes, but my two sons where already quite grown. Sherlock was fifteen and Mycroft . . . well he had already graduated from University and was working.”

“Two sons?” The other man asked her.

Violet turned and looked at the man. He was thin and slight for an alpha. His hair was slick back and black as the night. His dark brown eyes were so dark they were almost black.

“Yes, two sons. Mycroft and Sherlock.”

“Your husband didn’t have three sons?” The man asked.

Violet hesitated for a moment then insisted. “No, he did not.”

The man got up and started to slowly walk around the room. He looked with contempt at the various mementos of the Holmes family.

“Now Violet, you know that is not true.” He said as he picked up a silver framed photo of the family.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. What is he going on about?” She turned and looked at Smith.

The smaller man was leaning back in his chair and studying the contents of his teacup. He seemed to be ignoring the conversation between his associate and Mrs. Holmes.

“Your husband had another family. A wonderful family.” The man said.

Violet looked back at the dark haired man. His pale features and narrow face.

“It’s you, isn’t it? You look just like her.” Violet narrowed her eyes at the man. Her voice took on a hardness they hadn’t heard before.

“I’m surprise you would notice. My mother was a lovely person. Kind and giving.” Moriarty said.

“She was vain and shallow. A demanding little opportunistic leach. Siger was an idiot for ever having anything to do with the little whore.” Violet sneered at the man.

“She didn’t steal your husband! He fled from you to her!” Moriarty threw the picture and frame across the room, over Violet’s head. The woman didn’t even flinch. It shattered on the river stone fireplace.

“He found out she was pregnant with you. He feared for you so he left us to make sure she didn’t harm you. She was dangerous.”

Violet looked over at Culverton Smith. The pudgy little man seemed to be oblivious to the fight between the other two. He was nibbling on a biscuit as he poured another cup of tea for himself.

“They loved each other.” Moriarty continued. “They loved each other but you wouldn’t leave it would you. You forced him to leave her.”

“I can’t tell you how much I hate to say this, but my husband was weak. He was a weak and spineless male. He didn’t love her. He probably didn’t even love me, but he was weak. She threatened you and he went running. But even he couldn’t put up with her. Her demands and her need to be on the top of everything. Nothing was good enough. Nothing was enough. She wanted more. A bigger house, more money, more jewelry. You know she kept threatening to kill herself. That was how she kept Siger coming back. He didn’t want to be responsible if she hurt herself or you. There have been at least two attempts that I know of. Then one day she miscalculated. She either took too many pills or Siger didn’t come home as quickly as she had expected.”

“You’re lying.” Moriarty growled.

“She was dead in the bathtub. You were crying beside her. You couldn’t wake her.” Violet continued ignoring the man’s growing anger. “Siger wanted to bring you here. I refused. I knew you were damaged. Not right, just like her. I wouldn’t have you here with my sons. My good and normal sons.”

“But it wasn’t your decision was it?” Moriarty tipped his head slightly. “You weren’t the pack alpha by then, were you?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about?” Violet tried to not look frightened of the man approaching her.

“We can both agree that my father was weak, but you didn’t take over from him. There was someone else who wouldn’t let me join this family. There was someone else who insisted that Siger give me up for adoption after my mother finally succumb to your cruelty.”

Violet tried to look steadfast as Moriarty stood over her. His black eyes looking down at her with a feral glow to them.

“Mycroft is the one who insisted I be put up for adoption. Mycroft banished me from my father.”

“No . . .” The word was carried on Violet’s breath.

“He didn’t want me near his precious baby brother. The omega, Sherlock.”

Moriarty’s hands encircled Violet’s neck.

“He said you would hurt him.” She whispered, seemingly unaware of the danger she was in.

“Well, it is now Mycroft’s turn to know pain.”

Moriarty tightened his grip. Violet’s hands came up and pulled at Moriarty’s. She scratched him as she gasped for air. Her eyes flew wide in panic.

“I was sent to an orphanage in Belfast. Can you imagine what it was like? How they would treat a child born outside of a bonding. What the nuns would say to a child rejected by his alpha? Rejected by his family?” Moriarty tightened his grip. His fingers squeezing her neck down; the crushing of bones and compressing of blood vessels to the brain.

Violet’s face turned red, then purple. Her eyes were wide with fright as she struggled to pull the man’s hands from her throat.

“I was six years old. Beaten every day. Sometimes with a stick, sometime with a belt. I was made to bath in cold water. Even in the winter.” Moriarty’s voice took on a hysterical tone. “Even Dickens’ in his darkest fantasies couldn’t imagine the horrors of the childhood I had . . . all because of your son, Mycroft. Well, I am here to return the favor. He will now suffer. He will now see everything he cares about taken away from him.”

He shook her by her neck. Her hands fell away from his as her face went slack. Moriarty kept the pressure up as he spoke.

“I will destroy him. I will tear down everything he has built up. I will take away everything he cares about.”

Moriarty kept choking Violet Holmes, until Culverton Smith cleared his throat.

“I don’t mean to criticize but I believe she can no longer hear you. She’s dead. Has been for the last two minutes.”

Moriarty’s vision cleared of his anger and he looked down at the body of the old woman. She hung loosely in his grip. He let go and she slumped down in the chair.

Moriarty removed his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands. “I can understand the enjoyment you receive in the physicality of strangulation.”

Moriarty turned to look at Smith. Smith smiled and waved a biscuit in the air.

“The sensation one feels as you watch the life leave their eyes. It is quite remarkable. Almost . . . dare I say . . . spiritual?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Moriarty frowned. “Time to go. I’m sure Mycroft’s face is plaster across the news. Accused of murdering an omega in his hotel room.”

Moriarty headed to the door. Smith quickly ate the biscuit and drank the last of his cooling tea.

“What do you have planned for the omega?” Smith asked as he caught up to Moriarty.

“I think a drug overdose will be the final straw in Mycroft’s down fall. His power and position have already been taken from him and now his family will be dead.”

“What about Lady Smallwood? You did promise.” Smith leaned into the man.

“She will have an accident in a few days and will need to be admitted into hospital.” Moriarty smiled at the shorter man.

Smith smiled back. He was looking forward to visiting Lady Smallwood in hospital.


	23. One of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft give Sherlock heartbreaking news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, RL got in the way of posting.

_“The dead omega was found in the hotel suite of Mycroft Holmes. Holmes was questioned by the police and was released later. The dead omega’s fiancé, Archibald Rampant, was also at the hotel and had been the victim of an assault but police do not believe the two incidents are connected. Rampant was unavailable for interview after he was released from hospital with a broken arm and dislocated shoulder.”_

The newscaster continued reporting the story of Victor’s murder as images of Rampant leaving hospital flashed across the television screen. The portly alpha was walking out of hospital with his arm in a sling. His hair was messed up and his bald spot was apparent. He wasn’t wearing his tuxedo jacket. The collar of his white shirt was open and showed his pale chest with a mat of thick black hair.

John turned off the televisions set and tossed the remote onto the coffee table in front of him. He sat on the couch as he dragged his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. The younger omega was draped across the couch with his head in John’s lap. He was sleeping. The scent of the alpha making the already physically exhausted omega relax and content. John watched as Sherlock nestled deep into his lap. Nosing at his zipper to catch any lingering scent of the alpha’s musk. John’s fingers combed through Sherlock’s curls. The strands cascading back over the pale forehead.

John hummed as he thought about taking the omega back to bed. His own desires growing as he imagined various scenarios together. He wondered if Sherlock would allow him to feed him by hand. John imagined Sherlock naked and nibbling on his fingertips as he slipped a slice of orange or a grape between those lush lips. He looked down and saw Sherlock’s nose pressed up against his groin. His imagination saw Sherlock sucking him down. He dreamed of the sensation of Sherlock rubbing his face across John’s cock before slipping those perfect cupid bow lips around it.

John growled and tugged a little tighter on Sherlock’s hair. He watched a small curl come to the omega’s lips in a secret smile.

The door to 221 Baker Street opened and closed. The sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs preceded the arrival of Mycroft to the flat. John glanced towards the door and glared at the man. He still had not forgiven him for what he had said to Sherlock. For planting doubt in Sherlock’s mind about John’s intentions. John growled. Mycroft raised his eyebrows at him in skepticism.

“You are not pack. John doesn’t want you here in his territory.” Sherlock said from John’s lap.

John glanced down and saw Sherlock’s eyes were still closed. John placed his left arm protectively over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I was unaware that this flat had become Doctor Watson’s territory.” Mycroft said as he entered the room.

“What your brother is trying to tell you nicely is to fuck off.” John growled.

Mycroft ignored the man and sat down in Sherlock’s leather chair. The omega heard the sound of stretching leather and tried to roll out of John’s lap. The alpha tightened his hold on Sherlock. The two men looked at each other. John could see the annoyance in Sherlock’s eyes but knew it wasn’t directed towards him. Sherlock rubbed his cheek against John’s jeans and smiled. John growled softly. A rumbling sort of growl to let the omega know he approved of the affection.

John allowed Sherlock to sit up, but immediately wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulled the man tight to side.

“John’s territory is anywhere he wants it to be. And where ever it is I will be there too.” Sherlock explained.

“You are awfully loyal very quickly, Sherlock. Will there be a happy announcement soon?” Mycroft said cruelly.

“The happy announcement was that the arrangement you made was terminated.” John snapped back at the other alpha.

“Terminated? Interesting choice of words.” Mycroft mused, ignoring the overt threats from John.

“You are not so stupid to make that accusation again. You should thank John. If he hadn’t saved me from Rampant, then I wouldn’t have been able to rescue you from the police today.” Sherlock said. He cocked his head slightly to the side and smiled. “So how did you enjoy your first urine drug test? Having to piss in front of a total stranger is such a rewarding experience don’t you think?”

Mycroft finally turned and looked at his brother. Animosity and resentment seethed from Mycroft. John tightened his hold around Sherlock’s waist and growled louder. Threatening Mycroft until the other alpha bowed his head in submission.

“I presume you are expecting a ‘thank you’ for pointing the police to the most logical explanation for the situation.”

“And once again, you are wrong in your deductions.” Sherlock said as he leaned against John’s body. “Why are you here Mycroft?”

Mycroft realized he had allowed his suspicions of John to interfere with the reason he had come to see Sherlock. He needed to gain control of the situation or this could go very badly for everyone.

“You were correct in that the drug test showed I had been given something similar to rohypnol. Thank you for encouraging them to perform the test before the drug had left my system. But that is not the reason I’m here.” Mycroft paused as he tried to find the correct words and phrases.

“Alright, I’ll play, why are you here?” John asked, suspiciously.

“Sherlock, I need to speak to you alone.” Mycroft started.

“No, John stays here.” Sherlock snapped back.

Mycroft hesitated. He looked questioningly at the two men. Maybe it would be a good thing for the other alpha to stay. If he could control Sherlock’s emotions, then maybe Mycroft could get through this without hysterics.

“It’s our mother.” Mycroft whispered.

“Let me guess. I’ve disappointed her again. What did I do? Not pay homage to her appropriately? Use the wrong fork at the dinner table?” Sherlock asked. Sherlock’s scent changed from his normal sweet smelling scent to bitterness from anger.

“No. Our mother . . . she was . . .” Mycroft looked directly at his brother. “She is dead, Sherlock. She was killed.”

Sherlock stiffened. He shook his head once as he felt John’s hand grip his. “Dead? . . . But that can’t . . . You’re lying.”

“I was at New Scotland Yard. I was in an interview room waiting for the paperwork to be completed for my release when Gregory Lestrade came in. He told me the police had received a call of a dead body. It was our mother.”

“Where? When? How did it happen? Where are the police?”

“At her house. She apparently was entertaining someone. She served them tea. Then for some reason . . . maybe there was an argument or something . . . I don’t know . . .”

“What do you mean you don’t know!?” Sherlock shouted. “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders and looked away. He smelled how his brother’s scent had changed again to distress and fear. John’s alpha scent became stronger as he became more protective.

“I have to go there!” Sherlock announced as he stood up, pulling out of John’s grasp.

John quickly stood and wrapped his strong arm around Sherlock’s waist pulling the man flush with his body.

“NO, JOHN. I’VE GOT TO GO AND FIND OUT WHO DID THIS! WHAT HAPPENED?!”

John cupped Sherlock’s face in his palm. “I promise, we will go see her. But I won’t let you go alone. I’ll take you there.”

“John . . .” Sherlock collapsed into the alpha’s arms.

John wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock to help guide the omega back down on to the couch. John wrapped his hand around the nape of Sherlock’s neck and squeezed lightly, grounding the upset omega. Slowly, John started rubbing Sherlock’s neck as he pulled the younger man into his lap. After several minutes the omega calmed down. His scent changing from distress to a more calm state.

“Sherlock? Her body is already in police custody. You won’t be able to see her. I can’t even see her right now.” Mycroft’s voice was soft.

Sherlock hummed and burrowed his face into John’s neck. He breathed deep the scent of the alpha.

Mycroft continued. Almost pleading, he asked, “Did you hear me? She knew who they were.”

“How was she murdered?” Sherlock asked.

John held the younger man as he kept stroking up and down Sherlock’s neck trying to give comfort to the omega.

“She was strangled.” Mycroft said.

“Manual strangulation . . . that is significant. They were angry. Very angry. Emotional. This was personal.” Sherlock whispered.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“Think about it, John. You sit with someone, an elderly woman. Share tea with her. Share a conversation with her. Then you stand up and wrap your hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. Watch her die in your arms. It isn’t a fast death. It is slow and difficult . . . for both the victim as well as the killer. There is a lot of emotion there to go through with it. The proximity to the victim makes it personal.” Sherlock said gathering his composure back.

“Are you saying it was a friend of Mummy’s who did this?” Mycroft’s voice took on an edge.

“No, but someone whom she trusted. Someone who could get close to her and who has some kind of emotional connection to her. She may not have even known about the connection, but it is significant to the killer.” Sherlock rested his head against John’s shoulder as he spoke.

“What if the emotional connection was not to her but to someone else?” John asked.

“Are you suggesting that my mother was a proxy?” Sherlock asked.

“What if someone was angry with one of you and murdered your mother as punishment?” John offered.

Sherlock turned and looked at Mycroft. “Could someone be blaming me for Magnussen’s death?”

“No, impossible. The only people who know you were at the scene besides myself and my assistant is you, John and the sniper. Every other person connected to the investigation has been kept ignorant of your involvement.” Mycroft stood up and started to pace.

“I wasn’t saying that Sherlock was the target but you, Mycroft.”

“What?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft turned and looked at the soldier. “What do you mean?”

“Both your brother and mother were almost lost to you.” John said.

“You believe I might be the connection.” Mycroft continued to pace. His right hand rubbed over his chin. He spoke like he was talking to himself. “Over the past month, I have been repeatedly attacked. A defense analyst was murdered and plans were stolen under my watch. The information of those plans were used to blackmail me. My brother was forced into a bonding with a reprehensible individual. My place as the pack alpha was compromised. Then I’m framed for the murder of Victor. My position within the government is now destroyed. My credibility lost. Finally, my mother is murdered. My family is being taken away from me. This is a systematic attack against me.”

“But who is close enough to you to know about your family? Who would know that Victor and I are flatmates, but still not be considered a threat by you?” Sherlock asked, sitting up straighter. John kept his hands on the man; not allowing Sherlock to slip away from him.

“That is a good question. Individuals jealous of me in the government wouldn’t know about Victor and Sherlock sharing a flat. Those who would know about the connection between Sherlock and Victor wouldn’t know about the defense analyst and the Bruce-Parrington Plans. And murdering our mother? I can’t think of anyone who would want to destroy me like that . . . except. . .”

Mycroft turned and looked down at John. He pulled the corners of his mouth down and tipped his chin up defensively.

“John needs to leave, Sherlock.”

“I said no.” Sherlock snapped back.

“He should not be here! This is about family!” Mycroft hissed.

“That is the reason he stays!”

Mycroft leaned back as if he had been physically slapped. His eyes jumped to John. He saw the stern and fixed expression on the alpha’s face. He thought if he pushed it further, the alpha would attack him. Mycroft tipped his head down again and showed his neck to John. Submitting when he would prefer to control.

“There is someone who would know that. Someone who would want to hurt me that bad.” Mycroft said.

He remained standing in the middle of the room as if he was facing a firing squad.

“Who?” asked Sherlock.

“Only one of us.”

Sherlock blinked and leaned back into John’s body.

“I assure you brother, dear, I did not do this. I did not murder our mother, or blackmail you into be bonding me to a rapist.” Sherlock sounded insulted.

“Not you, Sherlock.” Mycroft hesitated as he gathered together his strength. “Our other brother.”


	24. The Story of Jim Moriarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft explains to John about his family history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little smut in the very last portion of the this chapter. If not your thing just skip.

John disconnected the call he had made to James. He looked around the living room of 221 B. The coffee table in front of the couch had been tipped over when Sherlock launched himself at his brother. Papers and books were strewn around the room when they were swept from the top of the desk and the shelves. The overstuffed red chair was tipped over too as the two brothers had rolled across the floor fighting. Mycroft’s umbrella lay bent and broken on the floor after Sherlock had tried to hit his older brother with it.

Mycroft presently sat in the Sherlock’s leather and chrome chair. An ice pack pressed up against his swelling black eye. Sherlock was in his bedroom changing his torn shirt. John had pulled the two brothers apart as they fought over a previously unknown brother.

“My friend will be here in half an hour. I am taking Sherlock away from here to some place safe.” John said directly. It was a statement of fact. He was not asking permission from the other alpha.

Mycroft looked up at him through his one undamaged eye. Mycroft frowned and tried to glare at John.

“I won’t allow it.” He mumbled through split lips. He winced as he lifted his free hand to touch the torn skin.

“I don’t care. You haven’t protected him. You can’t.” John said harshly. He stopped himself before he stated that Sherlock was now his to protect.

John righted the red chair and sat down. He sat across from Mycroft and lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard by Sherlock.

“This invisible brother wants to get to you by harming those around you. He has tried once and I’m sure he will try again. I won’t let anything else happen to Sherlock. He is under my protection now.” John’s voice dipped lower and threatened. “Now, tell me who this bastard is, so I will know who is coming after us.”

Mycroft gave a half-hearted laugh. “Bastard is correct.”

He glanced over John’s shoulder and down the hall to the closed bedroom door. He took a deep breath and slowly let it go.

“Sherlock was young. Only three when our father left us for his mistress, Jessica Moriarty. She had already given birth to her son, James, by the time he left."

John flinched at the name. He knew it, but he refused to believe it was the same man.

"I was older . . . fourteen when he decided to abandon his family for her and her child. She was . . . disturbed. I’m not sure if a complete diagnosis had been done but there were both manic-depressive tendencies as well as narcissistic behavior. She had threatened to harm the child. Our father chose to leave us and go with her. It would have been better if he had notified the authorities and had her institutionalized but he didn’t. He tended to take the path of least resistance whenever there was a difficult choice had to be made.” Mycroft pulled the ice pack away from his face and gingerly pressed on the swelling and darkening bruise on his cheek. “Sherlock was very upset when Daddy went away. He was always an emotional child.”

“So what happened?” John asked still not hearing any reason why James Moriarty would have set out to destroy the ‘Iceman’ in front of him.

“Jessica died. Drowned in a bathtub. The death certificate lists coronary disease, but more than likely, it was a suicide. It was hushed up to keep the family name out of the newspapers. Sherlock was eight and James was six. Daddy wanted to bring him home to us, but . . .” Mycroft glanced back towards the closed door to Sherlock’s bedroom. “I refused.”

“You refused?” John asked surprised.

“I was at University. My father was weak and my mother . . . it had taken a toll on her. She wasn’t as strong as she could have been. I took over as pack alpha. I was the leader in the family. Had to be since he left. I looked into James Moriarty’s eyes and saw the same insanity I had seen in his mother’s. If I had allowed him to come into our house, he would have done something to Sherlock. He would have harmed my mother or Sherlock or both of them. It was too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous? He was a six year of boy! How could he have done something to them?” John growled back.

“It was too late by the time he was six. I insisted he be sent away because he was that vicious. He was just like his mother. I could never trust him. I will never apologize for putting my family first unlike my father.” Mycroft hissed back.

“Did your father ever try to reconnect with his other son?”

“No. He never even spoke of him. When Daddy died seven years later, he only listed two children in his will, Sherlock and myself. Sherlock was only fifteen. I doubt he even remembers Daddy being gone for those five years.”

“Did you put your brother first when Magnussen showed up with that thumb drive and the threat of blackmail?”

Mycroft opened his mouth as if to say something, but snapped it shut. The door to Sherlock bedroom opened and the omega returned to the room. He had showered and changed clothes. He had packed a small overnight bag that he dropped by the front door.

“Alright, I’m ready to listen to this ridiculous explanation of yours, Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s eyes flashed at John, but the soldier didn’t give him any support. He leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Do you remember Jessica? Daddy’s secretary?”

Sherlock went and sat down on couch. “She died when I was young. Ten?”

“You were eight when she died. Do you remember Daddy being gone when you were younger?”

Sherlock seemed to struggle for a moment. The corners of his mouth pulled down sharply.

“I remember being . . . upset and no one telling me where he was.”

“He had an affair with Jessica and she had a child. He left when you were three.”

“Our brother?”

Mycroft nodded his head as he pressed the icepack back to his face.

“What happened to the child?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft glanced away from his brother for a moment, then turned back. “Jessica was Catholic. Her family didn’t want him. He was placed in an orphanage in Belfast. The Sisters of the Weeping Heart took him in.”

“Why didn’t Mummy and Daddy take him in?” Sherlock asked.

“He wouldn’t have fit into the dynamics of our family.”

“You’re lying.”

John watched Mycroft and saw the slight bob of the man’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“He ran away from the orphanage when he was fourteen. I was unable to keep track of him after that. Our father made no attempt to remain in contact with him. There have been rumors . . .” Mycroft glanced away from his brother again. “Rumors that he is involved with a northern crime syndicate but no proof.”

“What is his name?” Sherlock asked.

“James Moriarty.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock looked away from his brother. Focusing on something in the middle distance.

“That was the name the taxi driver, Jefferson Hope, said when he was shot.” Sherlock said astonished.

“What?!” John barked.

“When I was questioning Jefferson Hope, he told me that I had an admirer. Someone who told him about me. When he lay dying on the floor, he told me the man’s name was ‘Moriarty’. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“The world is rarely that lazy.” Mycroft said.

“The defense analyst . . . how did he die?” Sherlock asked.

“His skull was bashed in. His body was found on the railroad tracks near Paddington Station.” Mycroft answered confused by the question.

“And Magnussen had the thumb drive that the analyst supposedly took?”

“Yes.”

“But Magnussen was shot.” John interrupted. “If he was part of this plan to bring Mycroft down, why was he shot?”

“Maybe Magnussen wasn’t following the plan. Maybe he decided to take the thumb drive and blackmail both Mycroft and the person who took it originally. The person who murdered the analyst.” Sherlock suggested.

“You mean Moriarty?” John asked.

“Then if you weren’t part of the plan, then you weren’t supposed to bond with Magnussen.” Mycroft said as he pulled the icepack away from his face.

“No.” Sherlock stood. “Magnussen was supposed to discredit you, Mycroft. Use the thumb drive to prove you failed to keep government secrets safe.”

“And Victor’s murder?” John asked.

“To destroy your personal reputation and get you arrested for murder. But it’s not over yet.” Sherlock said as he looked at his brother. “You know what his finale act will be.”

Mycroft sat back in his chair. His face was somber as he slowly nodded his head.

“What!?” John asked angrily.

“He has murder my mother. Destroyed my career. Left my personal life in ruin. The only thing left is my death. Preferably, by my own hand.” Mycroft said.

“It would be the climax.” Sherlock said.

The three men sat silently as the information sunk in.

There was a knock on the front door of 221 Baker Street. John jumped at the sound. He stood up and immediately removed his gun from the holster. Sherlock and Mycroft watched the alpha as he marched towards the stairs.

“John, I don’t believe Moriarty would come here in person.” Sherlock said.

John hesitated and looked at the omega. Sherlock’s eyes shifted from John’s to the gun in his hand. John knew how dangerous Jim Moriarty was.

“At this moment, I don’t care what you think. I am going to keep you safe. You are mine and I won’t let you be used in this sick game between your brothers again.”

The men heard the door being opened. They heard Mrs. Hudson say something to someone and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. John stepped closer to the door. He pushed his back against the wall and raised the gun.

James Sholto came through the door. The barrel of John’s gun pointed at the man’s head as he stepped into the flat. John slowly lowered the barrel as James gave him a sideways glance.

“Did I miss something?” James asked.

“Not yet.” John said. “Time to leave, Sherlock.”

John slipped his gun back into holster at the small of his back. Sherlock stood up.

“I insist Sherlock stay with me.” Mycroft said.

John turned and glared at the man.

“You’ve had almost twenty years to make this right. Twenty years you could have stopped Moriarty and you didn’t. It’s my turn now . . . Sherlock is my responsibility. I’m going to keep him safe.” John said as went and took Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock hesitated and John turned to look into the omega’s eyes.

“Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about omegas?” Sherlock asked.

“I don’t know . . . have you changed your mind about alphas?” John asked in return.

“If you’re the alpha . . . yes.”

John reached up and wrapped his hand behind Sherlock’s neck. He pulled the man forward and kissed him hard. There was a soft whimper from the back of Sherlock’s throat. A surrender before he leaned forward into John’s body.

John ended the kiss. “Then let’s go.”

~^+^~

Sebastian Moran lay in his bed as he flipped through the pictures on his phone. He had taken several surveillance photos of Sherlock for Jim. They were taken at different times and in different places. Moran had saved them to his own phone for his personal use. Ever since Moran had seen Sherlock through his scope as he leaned over Magnussen’s dead body, the alpha had been fantasizing about the man. He wondered what Sherlock smelled like. He wondered what the omega would taste like. He wanted to know what it would be like to breed Sherlock.

The pictures flipped to one of Moran’s favorites. It was taken while Sherlock was inside the flat at 221 Baker Street. Moran had taken it with a high power telephoto lens through the window. Sherlock must have been alone in the flat. He was standing in the middle of the living room, away from the windows but still visible to Moran. It appeared the omega had just gotten out of the shower because he was nude except for a towel hanging loosely over his narrow hips.

Moran looked at the omega’s long lean torso. Ivory white skin free of any blemishes. Moran licked his lips. He could imagine himself licking up the omega’s body before biting down hard on that long graceful neck. He could almost hear the groan Sherlock would make as Moran claimed him as his own.

Moran’s hand moved slowly down his body and into his sweatpants. His fingertips scratching at the nest of stiff curls there. Slowly, he slipped his hand around his thick length; not yet filled but definitely interested. He felt it swell as he unhurriedly started to stroke it.

The next picture was also of Sherlock in the flat wearing the towel but this time the omega was turned away from the window. The towel was low on the hips and the dimples over Sherlock’s butt were visible. The damp towel clung to the curves of the omega’s backside, giving a tantalizing hint as to the actual shape of him.

Moran licked his lips again as his prick jerked in his hand. Yes, he could easily imagine bending that long thin body over and forcing his cock into the man. He would demand that Sherlock keep his hair long and curly. That way, Moran could grab hold of it and hold Sherlock still as he thrust into the omega. Moran imagined the scream Sherlock would make with the first intrusion, then the growing moans and pleas from the dark haired omega as he ravaged him.

Moran felt the tightness in his spine and burning need grow brightly. He rocked his hips up into hand, imagining it was Sherlock. The omega riding his cock. Begging to be claimed again and again.

He flipped back to the first picture of Sherlock standing in the living room almost nude. The man’s thin body and square shoulders. The pale brown numbs of his nipples. Moran ran his tongue over his teeth. He wanted to bite those nipples. To suck and nip at them as Sherlock bounced on his lap. Then it hit. Moran climaxed. His hand covered in his hot semen as his hips twisted and rocked. Moran arched his back and groaned softly. A long low growl of ownership.

He opened his eyes and looked back at the picture of Sherlock on his phone. His smile only lifted one corner of his mouth into a crooked smile. He couldn’t wait until it wouldn’t be his imagination any more but reality.


	25. The Rats Leave the Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft returns to work but learns he is not exactly welcomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last third of the chapter is a scene with Sherlock and John in bed. If not your thing please skip.

Mycroft Holmes walked down the halls of his office noticing the change in everyone. Before his arrest, the crowd of government workers would part in front of him like the proverbial Red Sea. They would stop their conversations and stare as if the Queen herself was passing by. But now the workers who lined the halls appeared to be indifferent to him, except for the hushed whispers as he passed. He could feel himself losing his temper as he heard more than one person laugh at him and several comments about deviance.

He reached his secure office deep within the protection of Whitehall without incident but not before he felt the need to throttle someone, _anyone_. His assistant, Anthea, was sitting at her desk, rapidly answering phone calls. She appeared haired and her normal calm demeanor was replaced with a sharp biting responses.

“Yes, sir. I have the message.” She paused and rolled her eyes. “I am aware of what was reported in the morning newspapers.” Another pause, then Anthea snapped back, “If Mister Holmes feels it is necessary, he will return your call.” She disconnected the call before the other person could reply.

“Busy morning?” Mycroft asked as he took the numerous slips of paper from Anthea’s offering hand. They were all the messages she had received for him that day.

“It would have been, except . . .” She trailed off as she stood up.

Mycroft looked at the various messages from individuals within the government who demanded he call them immediately.

“Except, no one has the balls to be seen coming or going from my office today. How many cancellation for meetings?” Mycroft said.

“Everyone for today. The Prime Minister canceled tomorrow’s briefing but his assistant for Domestic Affairs insists you speak to him as soon as you arrived this morning. Also the heads of MI6 and MI5 wish for you to call. Those others . . .” She waved at the notes in his hand. “Are for the rest of week. Nothing too important. But the rats do seem to be leaving.”

Mycroft smiled. “Thank you, my dear. Please call Lady Smallwood and tell her I wish to lunch with her today, if at all possible.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mister Holmes. You haven’t heard? Lady Smallwood was involved in a traffic accident early this morning. She is in hospital.”

Mycroft’s head snapped up as he glared at the woman. “Where? Which hospital?”

Flustered by the sharpness of her boss’s questions, Anthea stumbled over the answers.

“Ah . . . London Royal Hospital. They said she wasn’t seriously injured.”

“Get me her attending physician. I wish to know the extent of her injuries and if she is requesting anything.” He started to spin on his heels and rush into his private office.

“Oh, sir. I’m sure she is being well looked after. That fancy new ward built by Culverton Smith is at London Royal. You know that ward for exclusive patients.” Anthea tried to reassure her boss. “I’m sure anything she could want, they would be more than please to provide.”

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. Something about that name triggered a memory. “I still wish to speak to her attending. Also find out anything you can regarding the accident. What happened? Where did it happen? Were there witnesses?”

“Yes, sir.” Anthea immediately started texting to get the information.

Mycroft went into his office and closed the door. He paused as he the thought about Culverton Smith. He remember meeting the man several weeks ago with Elizabeth. He remembered Elizabeth didn’t trust him. He wondered if the world could be that lazy.

~^+^~

Sherlock had remained very quiet as James and John drove north to the house in Hornsey they were renting. It was just off Tottenham Lane. The mid-century red brick building had two semi-detached houses. Side by side. They walked through the garden to the back door that led into the kitchen.

Sherlock paused and looked around the room. It was freshly painted and smelled of the latex paint. There were large windows that let in sunlight on two sides of the room. The sink was under the window that looked out into the neglected garden. An older model fridge hummed in the corner of the room and the hob was small and look worn.

James tossed his coat over a chair in the kitchen as he walked through to the sitting room. John waited beside Sherlock. His hand resting on the small of Sherlock’s back.

Ever since Mycroft had told the two of them about Sherlock’s half-brother, John had been putting out protective pheromones. He had growled at an alpha when they had walked passed John and Sherlock on the pavement. John was seeing James as a threat to Sherlock and had made it a point to make his friend sit on the reverse facing seats in the taxi than to sit next to Sherlock.

Now that they were technically within John’s territory, the alpha relaxed slightly but still didn’t want to be far from the omega. John wondered briefly how soon it would be before Sherlock started to bristle under such scrutiny.

“I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want anything?” John asked as he forced himself to let go of Sherlock.

So much had happened that day, and John was certain Sherlock was just trying to process all the information. So much of what Sherlock believed about his family and his life had changed with the simple statement that Sherlock had another brother. It had to be completely disorienting for the young man. Sherlock glanced around the kitchen as John went over and turned the coffee machine on. He seemed unsure of himself.

“John?”

The alpha quickly turned and looked at the younger omega. “Yes, Sherlock . . .”

“I don’t want coffee.”

John sighed. “Alright, what do you want?”

Sherlock blushed slightly and cast his eyes lower on to John’s chest. He seemed embarrass and couldn’t look the man in his eyes.

“I really did mean what I said earlier. About you . . . and me.”

John smiled softly. “I’m glad, because I meant it too.”

Sherlock glanced around the room again. Then stepped closer to the door leading into the rest of the house. “Do you and James share a bedroom?”

“No, there are two bedroom in this house.”

“Oh . . . good.” Sherlock said distractedly.

“Sherlock?” John stepped closer to the omega.

“John . . .” Sherlock turned and seemed surprised the alpha had gotten so close to him. “John, I would like to stop thinking for a while. Could you help me stop thinking about it all?”

John pulled Sherlock close to him and soundly kissed his lips. His tongue swept over the omega’s lips as he hummed. Sherlock opened his mouth and John plunged in. He tasted Sherlock’s sweet brown sugar and the hint of apples. The kiss ended far too soon for John’s liking.

“It would be my pleasure,” said John as he took Sherlock’s hand and pulled him upstairs.

~^+^~

There is something very decadent about having sex in the afternoon. The sunlight through the drawn shades bathed the room in a warm golden light, but everything was still visible. Nothing was hidden between the two lovers.

Sherlock’s ivory pale skin took on a warm tone while the light highlighted John’s tan to a golden richness like honey.

John took his time as he covered Sherlock’s body in petal pink love-bites. Across his chest and down his abdomen. He hesitated over Sherlock’s groin, looking up into Sherlock’s expectant face. A sinister smile came to John’s lips as he sat back. He eased off the bed and grabbed Sherlock’s ankles. Twisting suddenly, he flipped Sherlock over onto his stomach. The omega shouting at the suddenness of being manhandled. John bounced back on to the bed. Caging Sherlock beneath himself. John nipped at the back of Sherlock’s thighs as he massaged the globes of Sherlock’s backside.

Instinctively, Sherlock spread his legs, granting his wanted alpha better access to him. Sherlock buried his face in his elbow as he felt John’s warm breath travel slowly up his legs. Sherlock groaned deep in his chest at the first tentative lick to Sherlock’s balls then his perineum. Sherlock twisted in the bedding as he spread his legs even wider. John nestled down between them. Sherlock felt the sharp press of John’s teeth to his fleshy backside. Squeaking as John left a bruise on the tender skin.

“Jawn, you’re tormenting me . . .” Sherlock gasped as he felt a lick across his bruised skin, then another nip. The omega’s voice taking on the subtle hint of a French accent.

“I’m claiming you.” John growled.

“That’s not how you said it was done. You told me that bites other than the scent gland don’t count.” Sherlock’s voice was muted as he hid his face in his folded arms. He could feel a warm flooding his cheeks

“Oh, these will count.” He closed his teeth over Sherlock’s flank as his finger began to play at Sherlock’s entrance. The omega’s slick coated the alpha’s fingers and glistened down the inside of Sherlock’s thighs. The room was heavy with the scent of the man and John found it heady. Wanting to bath in it.

“How? They will fade in a few days.” Sherlock said as he felt John shift behind him again.

John’s hands pulled Sherlock’s cheeks apart, exposing his most intimate parts.

“Because when they do fade, I will simply put them back on you again . . .” He took his first lick of Sherlock’s slick. The omega squealed at the moist touch. “And again . . .” John took another lick. Sherlock tensed and moaned as his body responded. “And again.” John pushed his tongue in as Sherlock shivered intensely under him.

John lapped and nipped at Sherlock until the poor omega was begging to be mounted. He was pushing his hips up and back, presenting himself to the alpha. John growled again as he watched the omega submit to him.

Sherlock’s knees were spread wide and his body ached to be entered. He wanted John, needed him.

“ _Pleezz_ ,” Whined the omega. “I’m ready . . . please.” Sherlock would deny he was begging but there was no other word to describe how he sounded.

John leaned up on his knees. His cock heavy and full, pushed at Sherlock’s softened entrance. John pressed his hand down on the small of Sherlock’s back and omega obeyed and arched up into the alpha. John watched as Sherlock’s body greedily accepted him. Plunging deeper into the hot velvet sheath of Sherlock’s body. Both men groaned loudly when John’s balls were pressed tight to Sherlock’s.

The girth of the alpha cock was almost too much for Sherlock. Even after the preparation and his slick easing the way, John’s member stretched the omega to his limits. The burn grew then blossomed into warm pleasure. A wave of hedonism moved through Sherlock’s body. He moaned and pushed back to take more of the alpha in. He could feel the swelling knot and instead of fearing it, he craved the greater stretch.

John grabbed Sherlock’s shoulder and pulled the man up. He pulled the omega tight to his chest and began rolling his spine. Pressing himself into the omega over and over again. At this angle he was shallow but Sherlock would feel every slide and every push so much more intensely. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back onto John shoulder. His mind blank except for the sensation of John plundering his body.

John’s hand smoothed down the front of Sherlock’s body until he fondled the smaller omega penis and balls. John dragged his nose along Sherlock’s neck, breathing in the omega’s heady scent. He opened his mouth and cupped it over the gland. Sherlock stiffened in his arms.

“No . . . not yet.” Sherlock gasped.

John growled at the omega’s refusal. In the back of his mind, John’s baser instinct told him to _‘take’_ and _‘mine._ ’ But John held back. He would have Sherlock as his own but only when the omega wanted him too. John sucked hard on the scent gland and growled as the bloom of dark bruise started to form.

He pushed Sherlock down into the mattress and began to pound into the man’s body. Hard deep thrusts that pulled cries and screams from the omega. The sound only spurring the alpha on. His knot swelled and he pushed it past the ring of muscle. As soon as it was deep inside Sherlock, the knot swelled to its full size, locking the two together.

Sherlock howled as he came across the bedding. His body rhythmically milking John’s cock. John collapsed on top of the man, panting as he slowly came back to himself. His heart pounding in his chest. His vision greyed at the edges.

“Fuck . . . is it going to be like that every time we . . .” John broke off his comment as he slipped a hand under Sherlock and rolled the two of them up on their sides. John threw a leg over Sherlock’s hip and pulled the younger man into his chest. A protective arm wrapped around Sherlock’s body.

John leaned forward and gently kissed the bruises he had left on Sherlock’s neck and shoulders.

“You okay?” John asked into the purple skin.

“I think . . . I . . . my mind has stop working.” Sherlock moaned. “It’s silent.”

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock closer. “Good. Let it rest.”

The two men dozed for several minutes as they remained locked together. After an hour, John’s knot deflated and he slipped from the omega’s body. Sherlock twisted in the bed and curled into John’s body, burrowing his face into the crook of John’s neck.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and held him there. He stayed awake as his mind slipped back to earlier.

“Stop thinking so loud.” Sherlock said into John’s neck.

“Can’t stop.”

“That’s my line.”

John didn’t laugh. He pulled Sherlock closer.

“Why did you say ‘not yet’?” John asked.

Sherlock shifted but didn’t pull away.

“I think we should wait.” He finally said.

“Is there a specific reason?”

Sherlock pulled back and leaned up on to his elbow. His silver blue eyes looked down into John’s.

“I need to stop my brother. I need to make sure James Moriarty can’t hurt anyone else important to me.”

John didn’t say anything. He kept his face neutral as he let Sherlock continue.

“After I know he has been stopped. After I know we are safe, then . . . I want us to bond.”

John brought his hand up and cupped Sherlock’s cheek. His thumb dragged across Sherlock’s eyebrow.

“You are wrong. It won’t be you who makes sure we are safe.” John said. “It will be . . .”

“Us?”

“Yes.”


	26. I Just Wanted a Chance for a Little Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Mycroft and Elizabeth.

Mycroft entered the restricted floor of the hospital. The dark blue carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked down the hall to Lady Smallwood’s room. He knocked softly on the door. He ignored the trepidation he was feeling. He wanted to refuse that he was anxious about anything; especially about seeing Elizabeth Smallwood.

“Yes, come in.” Lady Smallwood’s elegant lyrical voice called out.

Mycroft quickly swallowed his nervousness and opened the door. He smiled as he walked into the room. Elizabeth Smallwood was sitting up in her bed. The pillows propped up behind her back. Her left arm was bandaged and there appeared to be a cast on her left leg. Elizabeth was not wearing normal hospital attire. She wore a pale pink satin dressing gown that dipped low on her neck. The color accentuated her complexion, giving her pale skin a rosier tint. It made the bruises on her face less frightful.

Her reading glasses were low on her nose as she was reading the morning newspapers. The remains of her breakfast sat off to the side on a hospital tray. She removed her glasses as she looked up to greet her visitor. Her bright blue eyes smiled when she saw Mycroft walk in.

“Mycroft, how pleasant to see you.”

Mycroft felt a burst of warmth travel through him as he returned her smile. Again he forced himself to ignore the possibility that he was, in fact, capable of having normal emotions.

Holding out her hand towards him, Mycroft advanced and took her small hand in his. Feeling rather gallant, he bent over and kissed the back of it. Her lips pulled back into a broader smile.

“I was afraid that you would be too busy to come and visit me.” Elizabeth said, not pulling her hand back from Mycroft.

“Even if I was overwhelmed by work, I would still place seeing you above it all.” Mycroft patted the back of her hand. He tried to sound trite but there was a sliver of emotion in his voice.

She smiled again. “Mycroft, you are such a good prevaricator. Let me guess, the rats are fleeing the perceived ‘sinking ship’?”

Elizabeth glanced down at the newspaper in her lap. The front page had a glaring picture of Mycroft leaving the hotel in police custody.

Mycroft dropped her hand as he stretched his neck, composing himself. “I find myself with an abundance of extra time right now. Every appointment for today had been canceled before I arrived at work. And it appears the rest of my week will be opening up.”

“Idiots.” Elizabeth said as she folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the tray with the remains of her breakfast. “Anyone who knows you, knows that you are innocent of this.”

“It was very well planned out. Whoever planned on compromising me, has done an excellent job.”

Mycroft’s hand slipped into his pocket. He felt the stiff note card that was given to him with the room key for the Infinity Suite.

“I don’t honestly understand why you were in that room to begin with. Were you meeting someone?” Elizabeth asked.

Mycroft shifted slightly. He coughed softly as he choked on his words. “I was led to believe I was going to meet someone there.”

“Oh? Who?” She asked. She raised a sculptured eyebrow.

“You.”

Mycroft was amazed that he didn’t notice any hint of surprise in the woman’s expression. Either she knew she was the bait or she was an excellent poker player.

“I’m confused. You went to the hotel suite expecting to find me there? What made you think that?” Elizabeth asked.

Mycroft pouted then removed the notecard from his pocket. He handed it over to the woman. Elizabeth slipped her eyeglasses on and looked down at the note. Her face went from inquisitive to confuse to astonish as she realized the implications.

“You thought I sent this to you.”

“I had . . . hoped.” Mycroft said as he forced himself to not fidget.

“I admit it looks just like my handwriting but I didn’t write this. I didn’t reserve any rooms . . .”

“I am very aware of the fact that you are completely innocent in this situation.” Mycroft lied again. He wasn’t sure but he sincerely doubted that she would implicate herself by sending him a note luring him there if she knew about Victor’s dead body.

“But you had hoped I would be there?” She raised a questioning eyebrow towards him.

Mycroft glanced away from her. He turned and went to the visitor’s chair in the corner of the room. He sat down and carefully crossed his legs, tugging on the crease over his knee.

“Mycroft?” Elizabeth pressed.

He could feel his heartrate increase. He hoped his face wasn’t blushing but he could sense he was flushed.

“I will admit that I had expectations of developing a more personal relationship with you.” Mycroft said as he finally looked up into the woman’s quizzical face.

“A more personal relationship? You really can’t say it can you? You want to have an affair with me.” Elizabeth smiled.

“That might be too base a description . . .” He couldn’t stop the rosy tint that now colored his cheeks.

Elizabeth laughed out loud. “You are so darling when you are trying to act indifferent. Or should I say failing to act indifferent.”

Mycroft felt a stab of embarrassment. “I do not believe I appear ‘darling’ when I’m trying to be delicate about a private liaison.”

“How very ‘Mycroft’.” She laughed again. “A private liaison. Is this your way of asking me out for a date?”

“A date?!” Mycroft flustered. _How he – ‘The Iceman’ - had totally lost control of the conversation_ , he thought.

“Well, I would strongly recommend we start there before we go about meeting in hotel suites, but if you prefer to rush forward to . . .”

“No, no . . . a date would be . . . acceptable.” Mycroft stumbled over the words.

“Well, it took you long enough. I’ve been dropping hints left, right, and center, and you have been as obvious as a schoolboy.”

That was definitely not where Mycroft expected the conversation to go, but he seemed relieved that it did. He suddenly found himself excited about the prospect of seeing Elizabeth Smallwood privately. Dinning at his favorite restaurants, discussing things that had nothing to do with politics. Sharing personal information and histories. He realized his attraction to her was more than just physical.

“I realize that you won’t be wanting to go out to dinner tonight but . . .” An idea slammed into Mycroft’s head. “It was reported that this floor had its own private catering instead of the hospital’s normal kitchen.”

“I believe so.” Elizabeth said confused by Mycroft’s shift.

“Well, then, if you are available for tonight, I would like to introduce you to one of my favorite chefs. I will request he makes a private meal for us and we share it here in your hospital room.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sure my doctors will agree to that. But I will be discharged in a day or two. Don’t you want to wait?”

“To the swift the prize.” Mycroft said.

“I believe you are misquoting . . .” Elizabeth dipped her chin down.

“How could I be misquoting myself?” Mycroft rose and took her hand again. “Until this evening, my dear.” He bent over and kissed Elizabeth’s hand again. “I look forward to seeing you.”

“And I you, Mycroft. Until this evening.”

~^+^~

Lady Smallwood had waited for several hours. She was expecting Mycroft at any moment when she heard the abrupt knock on her hospital room door.

“Please come in.” She smiled wondering what Mycroft had devised for their first unofficial meal together.

To Lady Smallwood’s surprise, it wasn’t Mycroft Holmes whom did enter, but Culverton Smith. The small man immediately started apologizing for intruding.

“I know you must be exhausted but it was important I see you right away.”

“Mister Smith, I am not available to be interviewed at this moment. Nor am I accepting visitors.” Elizabeth Smallwood’s voice took on a sharpness she used when dismissing someone.

“I know, I know. But this won’t take long.”

He approached her bed and stood over her.

“Mister Smith, I really must ask you to leave, now.”

Culverton Smith smiled malevolently. He drew his finger down her unbandage arm. His eyes darkened when he noticed the rise of goosebumps on the woman’s arm to his touch. He could feel the growth of heat within himself. He was going to enjoy the next few minutes immensely.

“I have a friend . . . yes, I think I can call him a friend.” Culverton started to explain.

“If you wait until a more appropriate time, I will discuss your friend with you.” Elizabeth said as she tried to pull her arm back.

The IV tubing attached to her wrist slipped into Culverton’s hand. He let the tubing slip through until the injection port touched his fingers. He quickly grabbed it and slipped the needle of a syringe into the port. Pressing the plunger down, he grabbed the call button out of Elizabeth’s reach.

“What was that!?” Elizabeth shouted.

Immediately, she felt heat circulate through her body. Then her muscles relaxed. She gasped as she laid her head back into the pillows. Her tongue felt swollen and it was difficult to speak.

“Just something to help you relax.” Culverton said. “Now, back to my friend. He is an interesting man. Very charismatic. Clear thinking and an excellent planner.”

Elizabeth tried to call out for help, but she couldn’t make her lips work. Her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive.

“Poison?” She slurred.

“What? Am I poisoning you? Oh, no, never!” Culverton smiled. “No, this will wear off in less than half an hour. Don’t fret. I’m not going to poison you. But please, let’s get back to my friend. He really doesn’t like Mycroft Holmes. In fact, he hates him. Doesn’t just want to see him dead, but destroyed.”

Fear was pumping through Elizabeth’s body but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t flee. She had to sit and listen to the mad man.

“Jim was going to use you to help discredit Holmes. He thought Holmes was interested in you. Shall we say infatuated? But we never thought that you were interested in him too. Not until we found out he was ordering a romantic dinner for two to be delivered here from L’Atelier. Imagine the tantrum Jim had when he found that out. But I told him not to worry. He had already promised me that I could visit you. We just moved up the time and date. And here I am.”

Elizabeth struggled to move her arm towards the call button.

“No, no, don’t fight it. The drug I gave you will prevent you from struggling, but don’t worry . . . you can still feel everything. You are still very conscious and you will understand what is happening. That is important you see . . .”

Culverton stood up and removed his jacket. He hung it over the chair that Mycroft had been sitting in earlier. He removed his cufflinks and slipped them into his pocket of his trousers. Then he carefully rolled up his cuffs.

“ . . . I need you to look at me. I need to see the fear in your eyes and the knowledge you are going to die. It’s so exhilarating.” Culverton gave an exaggerated shiver. “I can’t tell you how excited I am at this moment. Waiting for what is to come next. Waiting to watch. It’s almost like . . . foreplay.”

~^+^~

Greg Lestrade didn’t know how he had become the personal detective inspector to the Holmes, but here he was again, being summoned by one of them.

He walked down the hallway noticing it didn’t look like it belonged in a hospital but more fitting for a hotel. The walls were painted white and attractive paintings were hung on them instead of charts and medical cabinets. The floor was covered with an attractive blue carpet instead of industrial tile. But the air was still tinted with the smell of disinfectant and illness.

He marched down the hall to the sound of an argument. He saw two orderlies standing next to a man in white doctor’s coat and Mycroft Holmes. Behind Holmes were three heavy built men who could only be protective service.

“Mister Holmes you simply do not understand.” The doctor started to say.

“You will find I am capable of understanding many things simultaneously.” Mycroft snapped back at the man.

“It is not common but does, unfortunately, happen.”

“She did not have a stroke. I insist on a forensic autopsy to be performed at St. Bart’s.” Mycroft said sternly.

“Strokes are a complication of broken bones, especially in older patients.” The doctor continued. “There is no reason to suspect some form of malpractice.”

“I don’t suspect malpractice. I suspect murder.” Mycroft said sharply.

Lestrade stepped up to the group. He sighed as he glanced between the seven men.

“And that would be my job to determine.” Greg Lestrade said as he held out his warrant card for the doctor and the orderlies to see.

“Officer, I demand you remove this man and his guards immediately!” the doctor shouted.

“What is this about a murder?” Greg turned to Mycroft as he ignored the doctor.

“In here, Lady Elizabeth Smallwood.”

Mycroft turned and reentered the hospital room. Greg followed. The doctor tried to enter but Mycroft’s security detail blocked him, closing the door before the doctor to could see who was in the room.

Mycroft stepped back and Greg moved forward and looked at the woman laying in the bed. She appeared to be asleep but Greg knew the pallor of death. He glanced around the room. It was plush for a hospital room. An oversize single bed with thick blankets. Comfortable looking chairs and a flat screen television set. In one of the chairs, sat John Watson, who was glaring at the detective.

“What are you doing here?” Greg asked as he glared back at the alpha.

“He is here with me.” Sherlock suddenly stood up. He had been on the floor behind the bed and out of sight. In his gloved hand, he held a silver cufflink. He turned over and looked at the etched initials. “H. H. Ring any bells?”

“What the devil are you doing here?” Greg asked Sherlock.

“I called him as soon as I found Elizabeth . . . Lady Smallwood dead.” Mycroft said. There was an unfamiliar tremble to his voice.

Greg turned back to Mycroft Holmes. The man looked pale. Creases lined his face and he eyes were bloodshot. _‘Had he been crying?’_ Greg wondered. Greg had been aware that things were not going well for the man but he didn’t realize the toll it was taking on him.

“So instead of calling her doctor, you called your brother and the police?” Greg asked, still uncertain why he was there.

“I immediately informed the hospital staff when I arrived. They insisted that she had died of natural causes. Something about the bone marrow from her broken leg causing an embolism. I rejected that conclusion. Therefore, if it is not a natural death, and I sincerely doubt anything about this appears accidental, that leaves homicide, suicide or undetermined as a manner of death. All of which needs to be investigated by the police.” Mycroft stated with his routine mannerisms, but there was still something off in his voice.

“And Sherlock?” Greg asked still pressing.

“A lucky happenstance my brother works with the police on the more difficult cases.” Mycroft gave a condescending smile.

“Alright, but why murder?” Greg shrugged his shoulders.

“Her eyes.” Sherlock said.

Greg turned and looked at the omega then over at the dead woman. Sherlock lifted Elizabeth’s eyelid and exposed her eyeball.

“Petechiae in the eyes. Indication of asphyxiating. And here look at her lips. The slight bruising.” Sherlock said.

“I don’t see any bruising.” Greg said.

“It is barely visible. He used just enough pressure to keep her mouth closed as he pinched her nose slightly. Blocking off air without actually causing damage to her skin. His hands are small but he is experienced at this. He’s done it before.”

“Before?”

“The size of the hand is almost identical to the marks left on Victor’s body.”

“But small hands? That would indicate a woman. Why do you keep saying he?” Greg asked.

Sherlock held out his hand showing the detective the cufflink. Greg reached for it when suddenly John leaped out the chair, growling. He grabbed Sherlock and pulled him back from the detective.

“Don’t!” John’s voice rumbled darkly.

Greg glanced between John, Sherlock and he turned to Mycroft. Mycroft sighed.

“I recommend you don’t get too close to my brother. It seems that the two of them are . . . involved. Doctor Watson has become very possessive of my brother. He put two of my security men in hospital this evening when they attempted to remove Sherlock from Doctor Watson’s home.”

Sherlock turned and nuzzled into John’s neck. Purring softly, “I’m yours.”

Greg glared at John. “I thought you said you weren’t interested in Sherlock Holmes.”

“He has a way of changing my mind.” John said simply.

The two men continued to glare at each other.

“Please! Can we get back to the real reason we are here! Lady Smallwood!” Mycroft didn’t shout but only just.

Sherlock rolled his eyes then took a deep breath. “Someone came in here and somehow prevent her from calling for assistance. He subdued her then held his hand over her mouth and nose, suffocating her.”

Sherlock placed his gloved hands over the dead woman’s mouth and nose and illustrated how she was murdered. Mycroft made a slight whimpering sound from his corner. The other men forced themselves to not notice.

“Whoever he was, he is experienced. He’s done this before. He knew how much pressure to add without leaving visible bruises. She knew him and didn’t fear him because she didn’t press her call button as soon as he entered the room. By the time she knew something was wrong it was too late for her to signal for help. He is also familiar with the hospital and the routine of the staff.”

“And his initials are H.H.?” Greg asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. The initials might be a reminder of something else. Something significant for the killer.” Sherlock looked back down at the dead woman. “There is something else . . .”

“What?” Greg asked.

“This is familiar, like I’ve solve a similar murder before.” Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass and looked closely at Elizabeth’s hands.

“I don’t remember any murder like this in a hospital.” Greg said. “Hasn’t been one.”

“Yes there has.” John said as he stepped closer to Sherlock. The dark haired omega stood up and looked at John. “The morning after we . . . you told me to leave because you had a case.”

Sherlock paled. “I’m sorry I lied to you, John.”

“I know. But remember . . . you said there had been a murder of a rich industrialist. You said his family wanted him dead and must have hired someone in the hospital to do it.”

Sherlock seemed to disconnect from the conversation as he searched his memory. He recalled the case. He couldn’t solve it because he kept thinking about John. How wonderful their night together had been and how horrible he felt after he had sent John away.

“I didn’t solve it. I didn’t even tell Lestrade my suspicions.” Sherlock said as he glanced around the room. “But it was this hospital. Probably this floor.”

“Who was it? What was his name?” Lestrade

“Cavendish, Montague Cavendish.” Sherlock said.

Lestrade pulled his mobile out of his pocket as he marched out of the room. “Donovan, I need you to do a search for Montague Cavendish. He died at Royal London Hospital.”

The door closed behind him, cutting off the rest of the conversation.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said drawing his brother’s attention. “There is no connection between Elizabeth and this Cavendish. Her family wouldn’t arrange her murder.”

“But if there is a serial killer working . . .”

“I sincerely doubt two deaths in a hospital, makes a serial killer.” Mycroft said.

“What about three?” John asked.

“Three?” Sherlock looked at John quizzically.

“There was a young woman. She was recovering from a drug overdose. Had gone through rehab then suddenly died. It was in the papers. I think she was here at this hospital. She was rich too. She would have been placed in this ward.” John relayed the story of the young woman. He remember it, because it was still in his mind when he found Sherlock unconscious with a needle close by.

The door opened and Greg Lestrade came back into the room. “You were correct. Montague Henry Cavendish died in this very room two weeks ago. No autopsy was performed.”

The four men looked back and forth between each other. The implication were obvious. _How many more victims were there?_

“I presume you will proceed with the autopsy over at St. Bartholomew?” Mycroft asked as he leaned heavily on his umbrella.

“I’ve already ordered it. We are also pulling the video from the CCTV cameras of this hospital.” Greg said.

“You won’t find anything.” Sherlock stepped away from the bed.

“Why not?”

“Because whoever this is . . . knows what he is doing. He won’t be caught on something as simple as a camera.” 


	27. Simon Cowell Presents 'Britian's Got Serial Killers'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get distracted while trying to find the murderer of Lady Smallwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter will make sense at the very end of the chapter.

Sherlock stared at the computer screen showing the CCTV video feed. For over an hour Sherlock watched the three different feeds of the video from the day that Lady Smallwood, Cavendish and the young singer died. He saw nothing. No one walked down the hall of the hospital. There were no unusual shifts in the lighting. Nothing to make him think anyone had walked into the hospital room to murder anyone.

He growled and slammed the computer closed.

“Problem?” John asked from the couch.

The two men were back at the house John and James were renting. Mycroft having begrudgingly agreed to let Sherlock stay with John after the two had helped him avoid jail.

“Nothing . . . I can’t find anything to tie the four deaths together. But I know . . . I know the same person is to blame for all of them! I just can’t find the proof!” Sherlock growled.

“Is that the real reason you are so upset?” John asked as he set the newspaper down. He had just finished reading the article about Violet Holmes’ murder.

“Of course it is. What other event would make me this angry.” Sherlock asked confused by the soft look on John’s face.

“Sherlock, your mother. You just lost your mother. Losing a loved one is very traumatic . . . to anyone.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed out in annoyance. “Traumatic indeed. As if I would be concerned about people I share DNA with.”

“People you share DNA with?! They’re your family, Sherlock!” John was stunned by Sherlock’s dismissal of his mother’s death.

“They never thought of me as family, why should I be concerned by a happenstance of birth.”

“Sherlock, what are you talking about? She was your mother. She must have cared about you.” John pleaded.

“You met her, did it seem to you she cared about me?! She blamed me for my father leaving!” Sherlock ranted. John had never heard such emotion in his voice before.

“His leaving? Mycroft said he left because his secretary was pregnant.” John said remembering the conversation from days before.

Sherlock hesitated in his rant and finally looked at John. Sherlock’s eyes were red and tears began to swim at the corners. Sherlock’s lips were pulled down in a pout and John would have found him adorable if he wasn’t so frustrated with the man at that moment.

“I loved my father.” The words rushed out of Sherlock’s mouth before he could stop them. He looked ashamed for saying them. “Mycroft will tell you that emotions are a weakness. A flaw. He learned that from our mother.” Sherlock looked away from John and fixed his gaze on something from his past. A previous moment where his mother played on his feelings. He finally turned back to John and the doctor could see Sherlock pulling up his walls to protect himself. “My father left when I was very young. I missed him very much. I didn’t understand why. I thought I was the reason he left. I asked my mother and Mycroft but neither of them would tell me. When he returned years later, I was . . . different. I didn’t want to trust him. I didn’t want to believe he loved me. I was punishing him for going away . . . for leaving me. I realize now it was foolish, but I couldn’t stop myself. But as cold as I was to him, my mother was worse. She never forgave him. Never let him forget he had abandoned his family. When he died, I was fifteen. I realized that I would never be able to tell him how much I loved him and that I really did forgive him. I had lost any chance to make it up to him.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. John remained silent and let the man struggle through his emotions.

“I never saw my mother morn. She never cried. I was sent home from school for the funeral. Mycroft only took enough time off from running the country to give the eulogy before leaving again. The house was so quiet and empty. The day after the funeral, my mother was packing up his things and sending them off to charity. She wouldn’t let me keep anything. I left shortly after that. I ran away to London. I couldn’t stand to be there . . . with her.”

Sherlock sat very still staring at John. It appeared he was waiting for something. Something horrible to happen. It was as if he was waiting for another rejection. Another person to tell him he wasn’t worthwhile.

John raised his hand towards Sherlock and wiggled his fingers, inviting the man over to the couch. Sherlock hesitated, then slowly stood up. He moved cautiously over and sat down. John reached and pulled Sherlock’s shoulder, twisting the young man to lay across John’s lap. He placed Sherlock’s head on his shoulder and wrapped his left around Sherlock’s body, cradling the man close to him. John’s fingers slowly combed through Sherlock’s dark curls. After a few silent moments, Sherlock buried his face into John’s neck, breathing in the spicy scent of the alpha.

“Darling, I’m sorry all that happened to you. And I’m sorry that you have doubts. But never doubt you are loved now. Never question that you are valuable to me. It’s difficult being a parent. Sometimes very scary and some people can’t handle the responsibility. But that’s the past. It can’t hurt you now. I won’t let it. You are mine, now. I will keep you safe. I will never leave you. I will never abandon you.”

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock mewed softly as John’s right hand slowly smoothed down Sherlock’s left side. Long sweeping strokes as if he was petting a reclining cat. They sat together for a long time. Simply comforting each other with their presence. John softly scratched at the back of Sherlock’s neck and the omega pheromones slowly filled the room. Relaxing and reassuring.

John leaned down and placed a lingering kiss to Sherlock’s temple. His tongue tasting the slight hint of salt along with Sherlock’s sweetness. The scent of his omega warmed John and he felt a tightness to his abdomen.

Sherlock twisted in his arms and reached up to kiss John’s lips. The omega’s tongue hesitantly licking at the alpha’s lips until John opened and allowed Sherlock a deeper taste. A faint whine came from Sherlock’s throat as his tongue licked into John’s mouth. Sherlock’s hands grasped John’s biceps and tried to pull himself closer as they continued to kiss. John groaned and twisted to allow himself to recline over the top of Sherlock. The kisses became greedy and urgent.

“John . . .” A breathy prayer came out of Sherlock as the kisses ended.

The needy sound went immediately to John’s groin. He wrapped his right hand under Sherlock’s back and placed the omega flat onto the couch as he crawled on top of him. Sherlock’s hands wrapped around the curve of John’s butt and squeezed. Causing the alpha to growl and nip at Sherlock’s jaw; John rutted against Sherlock’s groin.

“John . . . I need you.” Sherlock gasped as he felt John’s teeth worry at his neck.

Sherlock’s hands fumbled with John’s belt as John’s fingers were busy unbuttoning the omega’s shirt. John’s lips moved down Sherlock’s neck to his collar bone. He left a love bite over the line of the clavicle before moving down to Sherlock’s exposed nipple. John’s lips worried at the flesh until it puckered. He bit down lightly on the nub and listened as Sherlock gasped and arched off the couch.

“Jawn . . .”

The slight French accent Sherlock had when he was greatly aroused pushed John deeper into his own desire. He rutted against Sherlock again, feeling the omega’s fullness through the fabrics.

Sherlock’s hands fell away from John’s open jeans. He twisted and flexed under his alpha as he felt a dampness in his pants. His slick pouring out of him and soiling his clothes. The scent of aroused omega becoming overpowering in the living room.

John’s hands reached down and grabbed at the button and fly of Sherlock’s trousers. Within seconds he had the clothes undone and pulled down to the man’s knees. John started mouthing at Sherlock’s length. The omega’s prick full and stiff underneath the silk boxers. Sherlock pulled his knees up and apart. The smell of slick hit John like a two ton lorry. He closed his eyes and fought to control himself. Want and need overpowering as the alpha struggled to not flip the omega over and take him hard and fast.

“I want you, alpha.” Sherlock whispered.

John looked up and saw Sherlock staring back at him with lidded eyes. Sherlock’s face flush with desire. His curls encircled his head in a ravine halo. John was flooded with warmth and love for the younger man. Overwhelming need to care for and protect him.

“My love.” John whispered as he moved up and kissed Sherlock’s pouting lips.

They continued to kiss as John and Sherlock fumbled to remove clothing. Sherlock arched up moaning as John slipped his fingers into the omega to see if Sherlock was ready for him.

“My beautiful, perfect omega.” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear before he nipped at the tender skin just beneath.

Sherlock gasped and his eyes flew open as John pushed the head of his cock into Sherlock’s waiting body.

“John . . . oh, please, love . . . my alpha . . . mine!”

John’s control shattered. He moved rapidly and deeply. Plummeting into Sherlock. Sherlock was helpless under the ferocity of the alpha. He wrapped his legs around John’s hips and gripped the blonde’s biceps just to hold on. The sound of slapping flesh was mingled with groans and moans.

As John peaked, he sank his teeth down into Sherlock’s neck. Not breaking the skin but definitely leaving a sizable bruise on the young man’s neck. A foretelling of devotion. A promise of bonding.

Sherlock sighed and collapsed as he felt John pulsating inside him. John’s knot sealing the two of them together and pushing Sherlock to his own climax. The orgasm pumping through his veils, leaving him quenched and satiated.

John licked and kissed the darkening bruise on Sherlock’s neck as he waited for his knot to deflate. Sherlock purring softly underneath him.

“My beautiful silver moon.” John hummed into Sherlock’s skin.

Cracking an eye open, Sherlock looked sideways at John. He wondered where the lyrical statement came from.

“Does that make you my glorious sun?” Sherlock whispered back.

John hummed sleepily, “yes, it does.”

They lounged on the couch with the comforting weight of each other. Wrapped in the warmth of the ‘after-glow’. Sherlock closed his eyes and hovered on the edge of sleep as his mind drifted.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open as John felt the young man tense beneath him.

“Sherlock?” John was concerned, “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Sun.” Sherlock said simply. He shifted and tried to move out from underneath John only to feel the painful tug of the knot. “I need to look at the computer!”

“Well, not the most romantic post-coital comment I’ve ever heard.” John tried to not be offended by Sherlock’s need to get up.

“No, John, you don’t understand.” Sherlock twisted again but the knot wouldn’t budge. Sherlock yelped as he was pinned in place under the alpha. Like a butterfly to a poster board.

“Sherlock, please stop moving.” John growled. “We are going to have to wait until the knot goes down and the more you fight, the longer it will stay put.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked looking up at his alpha. His silver blue eyes blinking wildly at John’s comment.

“Biology. Preventing an omega from looking for another alpha to bred them.” John was getting angry with Sherlock’s ignorance.

“I would never . . .”

“I know but that won’t stop my prick from demanding you stay put. Now, what is so damn important you want to try and physically injure us?”

“The sun.” Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, you said that. The sun. What does that have to do with anything?” John tried to control his anger.

“In the video. There was a window at the end of the hall. It’s not visible but the light coming in through it is. The sunlight.” Sherlock said.

“Okay, the sunlight . . . what about it?”

“It’s the same.”

“What do you mean it is the same?” John asked trying to keep up with the abbreviated conversation from Sherlock.

“The light coming in the window and down the hallway. It is the same in each video.”

“Of course it’s the same. The window didn’t move.” John said.

“But the sun did. The three deaths in the hospital occurred at different times of the day. One in the early morning, one in the late morning and one just before sunset. The light coming in through the window should have changed with the time of day.”

“But it didn’t. It looks the same in each video.” John said finally understanding what Sherlock was saying.

“Yes. It’s so obvious, I can’t understand how I missed it. Somehow, someone has hacked into the system and entered a loop of film of an empty hall.” Sherlock explained.

“But how, that system is supposed to be closed. No access to outside networks.” John said remembering what the hospital security guards had told them.

“Exactly, it means that someone had to have direct access to the security system. Also had to have access to the cameras to make an earlier recording. They needed to know who was going to be there and when they were going to be there. This is too well organized to be a single person.”

“So . . . not your illegitimate brother?” John asked. He didn't want to analyze why the thought relieved him.

“No, it has to be Jim Moriarty, but he had help. Someone who no one would question why they are there. Someone who is above reproach.”

“A nurse?”

“None of the three had the same nurses or doctors. They wouldn’t have access to the security system. No, not the medical staff.” Sherlock said.

“A guard? Maybe someone on ancillary service . . . housekeeping or an orderly?” John offered.

“A guard would have access to the security system but couldn’t walk into a hospital room without making the patient weary. It was a two man job. And the man doing the actual murder wore cufflinks. That wouldn’t be an orderly. No, it was someone who no one thought of as a threat.”

“Someone who would not draw attention to themselves?”

“Maybe they did draw attention to themselves. Maybe they enjoy drawing attention to themselves where ever they go. Maybe everyone is so busy watching this person’s left hand they don’t see what his right hand is doing.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds like a narcissist.” John said unable to imagine someone willing to be openly visible while plotting a murder.

“Like someone who wants to show off.” Sherlock hummed.

“You make it sound like it was some kind of reality TV personality or internet celebrity.” John said.

“Think about, John. Would you be scarred if someone from one of your crap TV shows appeared in your hospital room?”

“Well, that you depend on whether it was Amanda Holden or Simon Cowell.” John teased back.

“Who?”

John closed his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind. No, I would be confused but not scared.”

“That’s who the killer is.” Sherlock said.

Suddenly, John had an image of Simon and David standing over dead bodies. John collapsed down onto Sherlock’s body and sighed. “I can just see the headlines now.”


	28. The Final Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty discusses his final plans for Mycroft Holmes while Moran makes plans for Sherlock.

Jim Moriarty enjoyed the fact that his offices on the twentieth floor of the building looked out over Lendenhall Street and Lloyd’s of London. It made him feel omnipotent knowing he was standing over those who feared the very thought of him. He smiled as he adjusted his tie.

“Gentlemen, things are progressing nicely.” Moriarty said as he turned and looked at the four men assembled there.

Sebastian Moran was standing at parade rest with his hands comfortably folded behind his back. Culverton Smith was sprawled across the grey couch with a Champagne flute in his hand. The other two men, one an accountant and the other a lawyer, sat on the edge of their seats. Their knees pinched together and the hands fisted in their laps.

“I have received news today that Mycroft Holmes will be asked to step down from his position at Whitehall. He is presently banned from MI5 and MI6. We can start to increase the import of drugs through Dover and York from Afghanistan and Cambodia.”

The accountant took out a notebook from his pocket and started to write down the information. His Waterman fountain pen scratching across the paper.

“There will be a twenty percent increase in the cost of transportation of illegal immigrants into Great Britain. No exceptions. Also, I want the Black Lotus Tong to finally accept my demands for increased delivery of heroin.” Moriarty stated as continued to stare out the window.

The attorney cleared his throat. “Ah, sir . . . we have not been able to negotiate with the Black Lotus Tong since the death of General Shan.”

The room became very silent. A heaviness came. The accountant turned and stared at the attorney. Moran shifted slightly as his fingers wrapped around the grip of the gun in the holster at the small of his back. Culverton Smith simply smiled.

Jim Moriarty slowly turned and looked at the frightened attorney. Jim’s face was emotionless, but his dark eyes were wild with anger.

“I mean . . . ah, sir, we are trying . . . but they are . . . they want to know . . . I could call them today . . . right now if you want.”

“Why am I only hearing about this now?” Jim asked. His voice was dark and threatening.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t wish to bother you.” The attorney gushed.

Jim turned and looked at Moran. “Send a message, Seb. Let the Black Lotus know that they better be doing business with us or stop doing business altogether.”

Moran nodded his head. Both the attorney and the accountant relaxed.

“Also, I want to know how we can manipulate this situation in Washington D. C. to our benefit. See if we can establish more conduits into the US while their president and congress are in a deadlock.”

The accountant raised his hand tentatively. “If I may suggest, we can increase smuggling through Canada and Florida than elsewhere. The Canadian border is sparsely populated and Florida has a greater percentage of corruptible police and politicians.”

“Very good.” Jim smiled at the man.

The accountant sighed heavily as if a major weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He quickly jotted down the request about US smuggling, relieved he had something to make his boss happy. Deflecting any ire Moriarty might have had against him away.

“I think that will be all for today. I want to see the increases take place immediately. And Seb . . . deal with that.” Moriarty waved his hand at the attorney.

Sebastian Moran quickly pulled the gun from behind his back. He fired twice. Both rounds punctured holes in the attorney’s chest. Crimson blood oozed from the holes and stained the white shirt.

The accountant gasped and leaped up from his chair. He stared down at the lifeless body of the attorney. Culverton Smith simply smiled and took another sip of Champagne.

“Send the head to the Black Lotus. Tell them that General Shan was a liability and unavoidable.” Moriarty went to his desk and sat down.

Moran took out his mobile and texted a message to one of his team. The men would arrive and remove the body for him.

“Do you want the chair cleaned?” Moran asked Moriarty.

Moriarty glanced up at the gold gilt Louis the XIV chair. An antique that had cost them eighteen hundred euros. “No, just toss it. I’m thinking of redecorating anyway.”

Moriarty looked over at the accountant who was pale and sweating. The young man looked like he was about to pass out as he stared at the dead body.

“You may leave now. Go take care of your duties and don’t . . . _disappoint me_.” Moriarty emphases the last two words.

“Yeess, sir! Yeess, yes!” The man stumbled then ran out of the office. He passed Moran’s men coming in with plastic sheeting and a large bin.

Smith laughed as he watched the frightened man run out. “You shouldn’t have let him live,” Smith said.

“He is harmless. But I was getting tired of the excuses that the other was giving me.” Moriarty nodded his head at the body that was being wrapped up in the sheeting.

He waited until the dead body was removed and Moran came back in.

“I will make sure the package is delivered to the Black Lotus immediately.” Moran said.

“Very good. We don’t want let it get to . . . ripe before they receive it.” Moriarty winced at the thought. “Now back to Mycroft Holmes. One last thing before the final coup de grâce. Sherlock Holmes, the omega.”

Moran’s head jerked towards his boss. His mouth was suddenly dry. He hadn’t spoken to his boss yet about the young man. Moran wanted Sherlock as his own. He was going to suggest it to Moriarty as part of the plot against Mycroft. But if Moriarty had made other arrangements, Moran didn’t think he could dissuade his boss’ plans.

“Are you planning the same fate for the omega as you did for Victor Trevor?” Smith asked. He held the flute up to the light and studied the contents.

“No, I think not knowing the fate of his brother would be worse for Mycroft than seeing the omega ravaged and lifeless. Think how it would eat at him. Not knowing if the bitch was alive or dead, getting high somewhere in an alley or crack-house, or was he prostituting himself for his next hit. It would be elegant. But we need to do it before the funeral of ‘Mummy Dear’. That would just add to the grief.”

“You want me to kidnap him?” Moran asked as a plan began to form in his head.

“Yes. And then drop him off somewhere.” Moriarty thought for a moment. “We have a brothel in France that will take him, don’t we?”

“Several, but if I could suggest?” Moran stepped closer.

Moriarty looked up at his right-hand man, “Yes?”

“Let me keep him.”

“You? Does my little ruthless assassin have a soft spot for an omega?” It sounded as if Moriarty was teasing Moran, but the ex-soldier knew the truth. He knew that if he showed any weakness, Moriarty would doubt him and have him killed.

“We could take photos of the omega. You know, pictures of him debased. You could send them to Holmes adding to his torment.” Moran suggested, hoping to convince Moriarty of his loyalty.

Moriarty smiled. “That would be a lovely idea, but I don’t think so. Just nab the bitch and send him off to the brothel.” Moriarty waved his hand dismissing the idea.

“But Jim . . .” Moran continued.

Moriarty looked up at him. He could see something different in Moran’s grey eyes. A hunger he hadn’t seen before.

“You really want him?” Moriarty asked.

Moran pulled back. He tried to make his expression unreadable but he couldn’t.

“You find the Holmes omega intriguing. You want him for yourself, don’t you?” Moriarty smiled.

“I’ve seen him. He is . . . compelling.” Moran said.

“He’s a cunt. Only good for one thing.” Moriarty scowled. “But I will let you keep the bitch. I’ll even let you bond with him as long as you promise to keep him collard and on his knees.”

Moran felt a twist in his stomach. He wanted Sherlock. He wanted him to kneel before him and to be obedient to everything Moran wanted, but he knew Jim was planning something.

“If he is my bondmate, I will be compelled to protect him.”

“You will do as you are told. And so will the Holmes bitch. If I say jump, you won’t even wait to find out how high. If I say your bondmate will suck off every alpha in the room, then you will hold his leash while he does it.” Moriarty growled.

Anger flared through Moran. He would never allow another alpha to touch what was his. He would kill the first man who touched Sherlock.

Moriarty saw the shift in the soldier. He knew how dangerous Moran could be if provoked. He smiled slyly.

“Don’t worry, Sebbie. I won’t let anything happen to your darling. Just as long as you understand I’m the one who is giving the little bitch to you. You be good and he will be yours alone to play with.”

Moran didn’t trust the man.

“I have been a good soldier for you. I have done everything you have asked of me. I want the Holmes omega as payment for a job well done.” Moran said as he pulled his shoulders back and tried to look like the army officer he once was.

Moriarty’s temper flared again, but he kept it in. It wouldn’t do for him to lose a valuable asset like Sebastian Moran over something as trivial as an omega.

“Alright, he is yours. And only yours. But I want those pictures you talked about. If Mycroft Holmes is arrested, they will be a nice presents to send to him in jail.”

Moran felt relieved. “I will make sure they are memorable.”

There was a sudden knock on the door and before Moriarty could say enter, a man came rushing into the office.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING INTERRUPTING A MEETING?!” Moriarty shouted in high shrill voice.

“I’m sorry, sir. But I knew you needed to see this immediately.” The man said as he rushed forward and handed a tablet to Moriarty.

A news report was playing on the screen. A video of a Mayfair townhouse with emergency vehicles in front of it and several police cars. The announcer’s voice came over the pictures.

“It is unclear what exactly happened, but it is believed that Mister Mycroft Holmes attempted to commit suicide. You will remember Holmes was the prime suspect in the murder of the omega Victor Trevor last week, but Scotland Yard didn’t feel able to file charges against him. Mister Holmes’ mother was murdered just a few days ago and speculation is that he was also involved in her death. This might be the reason why Mister Holmes attempted to take his own life.”

Moriarty stared at the video showing an unconscious Mycroft Holmes being carried out of his house on a gurney. Mycroft was placed inside an ambulance and doors were closed. An image of Victor Trevor and Violet Holmes came up on the screen, blocking the view of the ambulance driving away.

“When did this happen?” Moriarty asked his assistant.

“It is a live stream, sir. The reporter stated they are taking him to London Royal Hospital.”

Moriarty looked over at Smith who was still sprawled across the couch. Smith hummed and took another sip.

Moriarty looked at the man. “Let’s hope the doctors are able to save his life.”

“Oh, yes most indeed. It would be a shame if he succumb to his injuries.” Smith said. He set the Champagne flute down and stood up. He walked over and took the tablet form Moriarty’s hands. “I wanted to ask him about his ancestors. I’ve been wondering if the Holmes family is related to my hero.”

“You have a hero? Who could that be?” Moriarty asked incredulously.

“H. H. Holmes. An entrepreneur from the 1800’s. He build his own hotel to murder people in.”

Moriarty smiled. “He built a hotel and you built a wing of a hospital.”

“Yes, but he was far more prolific than myself. I haven’t even murdered a child yet. Some reports put his number at forty people he murdered and disposed of, including ten children.” Smith said with a smile, as he thumbed through the screens on the tablet.

“Well, you’re just getting started aren’t you?” Moriarty asked.

“No, not really. But if things keep going as they have been and we maintain our current arrangement, I feel I will be surpassing him in a year or two.” Smith said as he looked up at Moriarty.

The smile of Smith’s face made Sebastian Moran wish he was still holding his gun.


	29. The VIP Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is a patient in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my absence. I have been very sick. I'm not back 100% but am making headway.

Sherlock looked down at his brother in the bed. He felt off balance. Something wasn’t right. His world was eschewed. Sherlock knew the past few weeks had been difficult on Mycroft but it wasn’t until that very moment did he actually register the physical effects the stress had caused his brother. The young omega had never seen his brother look so insubstantial. So weak. Mycroft’s pale skin was sallow now. His lips were chapped and thin. His eyes were sunken and listless. Dark smudges were visible beneath the brown lashes.

It had been reported that Mycroft Holmes had not woken yet from his drug induced coma. The man’s stomach had been pumped. The medication he had taken was presently being flushed from his system with the intravenous fluids being pumped in. The wheezing and hissing of the IV pump was the only audible sound in the room. Mycroft’s breathing was slow and shallow. Barely noticeable to his brother and Dr. Watson.

John didn’t care about the man in the bed, but he did care about Sherlock. John could tell that seeing his brother this way was effecting Sherlock and badly. Sherlock’s normal aloof expression was replaced with doubt and fear. Lines creased at the corners of the silver blue eyes. Sherlock’s mouth was pulled into a thin line as the young man’s hands grasped Mycroft’s umbrella tightly. His knuckles turning white from the pressure. Sherlock’s eyes darted from Mycroft’s face to the IV needle in his arm then to the machine measuring out his medication, then back to Mycroft’s face again.

“Sherlock?” John stepped closer. The scent of omega anxiety filled the hospital room and drove John’s instincts into overdrive. He placed a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and pulled the omega closer to him. “I’ve checked his medical record. It was close but he will be alright. Don’t worry, love.”

Sherlock still didn’t turn and look at the soldier.

“He always berated me for my drug use.” Sherlock started. He felt John’s hand slip around his own and squeeze tightly. “He called me weak.”

“When someone is scared, they tend to say things they really don’t mean. Sometimes they make stupid mistakes.” John offered. He wasn’t sure which brother he was speak of at that moment.

“Mycroft doesn’t make mistakes. Just ask him.”

John looked down at the unconscious man. Mycroft wouldn’t be answering any questions for a while.

“He demanded I leave a note . . .”

“A note?”

“A list of what I had taken . . . just in case. So he would know what to do.” Sherlock continued. “He said he would always be there for me. He would always protect me. He lied.”

John had made the same promise to Sherlock. _“Never doubt you are loved now. Never question that you are valuable to me. You are mine, now. I will keep you safe. I will never leave you. I will never abandon you.”_ John felt an overwhelming need to reassure the omega. John had promised and he would never willingly leave Sherlock. Never hurt him, but John knew this was not the time to remind him. Sherlock needed to focus on his family and not on John.

“He didn’t lie, he just made a mistake.” John said softly. “Sometimes things build up. And people just snap. We don’t know how much pressure he was under.”

“He wasn’t under enough pressure for this to have happened.” Sherlock finally turned and looked at John. “There was no reason for this. He wasn’t even a user.”

John thought back on how he felt when he was told his military career was over. If he hadn’t been laid up in a hospital bed, he might have done something desperate too. He might have let his demons out and done something that couldn’t be undone. He wondered if that was how Mycroft felt. If Mycroft believed his life was over if his career was.

“Sherlock, it’s time to go. I’ll make sure you are here when he wakes up. But right now, I need to take care of you. You are what is important now.”

Sherlock didn’t move. He stared down at his sleeping brother.

“The nurses will be by shortly to throw us out anyway. Let’s go.”

Sherlock tossed Mycroft’s umbrella down on to his brother’s bed. “There is your royal scepter, brother dear. As useless as you are.”

John took Sherlock’s elbow and led him away from the bed. Sherlock’s feet stumbled at first, then shuffled to the door. John opened the door and guided Sherlock out into the hallway. James Sholto was waiting for them. The older soldier was leaning his back against the wall as he watched the hall. John nodded at James. The two men shared a knowing glance before James stepped in behind John and Sherlock and followed them out. They only got a few feet away from the door when Greg Lestrade blocked their exit. Greg Lestrade was followed by two uniformed officers. His face was set in a firm cold stare.

“I’m placing a guard outside Mycroft’s door.” Greg said as a greeting.

Sherlock glanced up at the man. Greg could tell the omega was upset. For a brief moment there was a softness to Greg’s expression. Compassion for the burden Sherlock was enduring, then it replaced by the determined and emotionless face of the policeman.

“Why? There is no reason to believe Mycroft will escape.” Sherlock said.

“No, but something made him do this. Guilt is a probable cause. Besides too many people have been hurt lately. Too many people associated with Holmes. It is the safest thing to do.”

Greg waved his hand and one of the officers accompanying him moved passed John and Sherlock and took a position beside the hospital door. Greg’s attention moved back to John.

“I want to speak to you.” The tone of his voice was firm and aggressive.

John pulled his shoulders back and tipped his chin up.

“I’m taking Sherlock home.” John practically growled.

“Sherlock can take himself home. You need to explain something to me.” Greg said. John glared back at the man but didn’t say anything. “I have some questions about an armored car robbery.”

Sherlock stepped closer to John. He wrapped both of his hands around John’s arm. His fingertips digging into the thick corded muscles under the fabric.

“What would John know about a robbery?” Sherlock asked condescendingly.

Greg glanced back at Sherlock. “That is what I’m going to ask him.”

“James, please take Sherlock home.” John said as he continued to stare at the policeman.

“NO!” Sherlock shouted. “I won’t allow this. John comes with me!”

“Sherlock, go with James. Everything will be alright. I promise.” John said softer as he turned to look at the frightened omega. “Don’t worry.” He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock’s cheek. “I’ll be there soon.”

James took Sherlock’s elbow and pulled him past the policemen. Sherlock twisted and glared at Greg.

“If you do anything to John . . . if you try to harm my alpha in any way, I swear I’ll never work with you again. I’ll never solve another case for you.” Sherlock threatened in a harsh whispered voice.

Greg didn’t react to Sherlock’s threat but John’s inner alpha celebrated. He wanted to take the omega right there. Bite his neck and finally bond with unique omega and remarkable man. But John kept the cold killer countenance on his face as returned Greg’s stare.

James quickly dragged Sherlock towards the lifts. He gave John a quick glance as the doors closed. John nodded his head. He knew James would keep Sherlock safe. He just needed to make sure that Lestrade hadn’t noticed James as he left.

“In here.” Greg waved towards an open door for an empty hospital room.

“You first.” John growled.

Greg entered the room first. John glanced over his shoulder as the second police officer followed them in. He stood at the door blocking any possible escape for John. Greg stepped closer to the bed and flopped a file folder down on the crisply made bed. Glossy black and white photos spilled out as well as several type written reports.

“A couple of weeks ago, I went to ask Sherlock’s help on an armored car robbery. That was the day we met, remember?” Greg watched as John’s eyes moved over the spilled pictures. John didn’t acknowledge the question but remained thin lipped. “I didn’t understand why Sherlock was so obsessed with this one photo I showed him. He thought I didn’t notice him slide it under a pile of papers and hide it from me. I went back to the station and had another one printed up and studied it. Nothing odd about it. Just a quick glimpse of someone driving a car outside a Tesco just before the robbery. Two men in a car.”

Greg grabbed the photo from the pile and held it up for John to see. The soldier immediately recognized himself and James in the car they were driving that day.

“Can’t really see the driver. The passenger has had it rough though. Look at his face . . . the burns. Just like the ones your friend has.” Greg said.

John fought to remain unemotional. He wondered if James and Sherlock had cleared the building yet.

“So, you have a photo of the two of us in a car. Are you asking if we saw anything that day? You’ll have to tell me which day it was. I don’t recall witnessing any robbery since I returned to London.” John said as impassively as he could.

“And when was that?” Greg asked.

“What? When I was discharged?” John blinked confused for a moment. “I’m sure you have already checked with the army.”

Greg smiled knowingly. “Yeah, I did. Strangely enough you and your friend, Major James Sholto were both discharged for medical reasons a few months before we started getting reports of well-organized and executed heists.”

John pursed his lips out dismissively, and rolled his eyes. “Coincidence, I guess.”

“Coincidence?” Greg sounded doubtful.

“Any reason other than we were both discharged before your robbery spree began to connect us to them?” John asked.

“No, none at all. And the two of you seem to be living within the limits of your pension, here in London, but . . .” Greg paused. John forced himself to remain calm and not ask ‘what?’

“But friends of yours haven’t been.” Greg continued. “Albert Hanson was in your gang wasn’t he?”

“We weren’t a gang. We were member of the same unit in Her Majesty’s Army. I was his commanding officer; he was in my squad.” John’s voice hardened. He was getting angry at the civilian’s insolence.

Greg smiled again. “His nephew was sick.”

“We all knew.” John said coldly.

“He paid for the kid to go see a specialist. Paid cash for the treatment.”

“Hanson was real good at poker. He won all the time. He also saved most of his money packets from Afghanistan. Never spent much while he was overseas.”

“What about Bill Murray?” Greg asked.

“What about him?” John glared.

“You paid for his son’s funeral.”

“Bill saved my life. That’s a debt I can never repay. His son was murdered. What would you expect me to do for someone I owe so much too?” John asked.

“Maybe shoot the man who murdered his son.” Greg said lifting an eyebrow. “You know we never caught the man who murdered Jefferson Hope. You remember Jefferson Hope, don’t you? The man accused of murdering Bill Murray’s son.”

The radio attached the constable standing at the door crackled. He tipped his head and listened to the garbled transmission. The young man rolled his eyes then spoke.

“Begg’in your pardon, gov, but the suspect and the omega never arrived in the lobby. They didn’t get off the lift.”

Greg turned and took a menacing step towards John.

“Where did your partner take Sherlock?” Greg voice was low and threatening.

John felt a wave of relief swim over him. James had realized how dangerous the situation was and gotten Sherlock to safety.

“I don’t know.” John answered honestly.

“You better tell me the truth if you ever want to see the outside of a prison again.”

~^+^~

Mycroft laid still in his bed. He waited until he heard the click of the door closing behind his brother and John Watson before he took a deep breath. He felt the sting behind his closed eyelids. He swallowed the lump that was choking him in his throat. He hated doing this. He hated making his little brother doubt him.

Mycroft could hear is mother’s voice in his head. _‘It is your responsibility to look after him, Myc. You must keep him safe. God knows the rest of us have failed him.’_ In a rare moment of self-awareness, she had said those exact words to him shortly before his father returned to them. Violet Holmes knew she was a disappointing mother. She had allowed herself to deflect her anger and insecurities at her youngest. She had blamed three year old Sherlock for her own failings as a wife. And she had put the burden of protecting Sherlock from his own family on to Mycroft.

The teenager took the obligation seriously. He loved Sherlock. He did everything he could to protect his brother. Even forbidding James Moriarty joining their family when their father returned.

But Mycroft had failed Sherlock too. He hadn’t stopped this dalliance between Sherlock and the alpha Watson. He had allowed Magnussen for force him to agree to a bonding. He hadn’t protected his mother and she was now dead. And their half-brother was apparently behind everything.

Mycroft swallowed again, forcing the emotions back down where he could hide them. He needed to finish this. He needed to see if he was right in his deductions. That his death was Jim Moriarty’s final goal in sick game they had been playing.

Mycroft calculated the amount of barbiturates he could take that would suppress his breathing and heartrate without actually compromising his health. He was relieved he was partially unconscious when they had placed the endoscopy tube down his throat. It had been very unpleasant to feign insensibility as the idiots prodded and poked at him. It was quite indignant.

Then he had to listen to Sherlock’s accusations. He was aware of Sherlock’s piques of anger and childishness, but this was different. He heard the pain in his brother’s voice. Pain that he had caused. It was regrettable but necessary he told himself, but the words and realization of it didn’t remove the burning sensation in his chest.

Mycroft laid still in the bed waiting. He could hear Sherlock arguing with Detective Inspector Lestrade in the hallway. He wondered if that would be a deterrent to his next visitor. At least Sherlock had brought him his umbrella as he had instructed. He was relieved to feel the weight of it beside him on the bed. Relieved his deductions about Sherlock’s response were correct.

He was straining to listen to what Sherlock and Lestrade were saying when he heard the soft click and then the hush sound of a door dragging across the carpeted floor. The sound didn’t come from the door leading into the hospital room, but from the wall opposite from the bed.

Mycroft relaxed his face muscles and slowed his breathing. He let his body go slack as he waited.

“Mister Holmes?”

The voice was sing-songie. Almost childish in its tone quality. Also, it was familiar. Mycroft forced himself to not open his eyes. He couldn’t react to the man just yet.

“Mister Holmes, I’ve spoken to your doctors. It is surprising how quickly they are willing to disregard patient confidentiality when speaking to a celebrity. Your doctors said you should be awake by now. They said the levels of phenobarbital was quite low.”

Mycroft would have to have a conversation with said doctors when this was over. He sighed and slowly opened his eyes. Culverton Smith stood beside Mycroft’s IV pole. In his hand was a syringe. The needle already in the port and his thumb was depressing the plunger.

“Don’t worry. This won’t kill you. It will just make you more . . . complacent.” Culverton Smith smiled at Mycroft.

Mycroft leaned his head back into the pillow. His eyes fluttered and he gasped slightly. Smith moved away from the bed and slipped the syringe into the Sharps container on the wall.

“Why are you here?” Mycroft asked. His voice taking on a raspy quality.

“That’s a question we could ask ourselves every day. Why are we here? What are we here for? Is there a reason for all this?” Culverton smiled and waved his hand above his head.

“I sincerely hope this is not going to devolve into a philosophical discussion about the meaning of life.” Mycroft couldn’t help himself and rolled his eyes.

“No, no, no. Nothing so profound.”

He was unhooking his cufflinks and slowly rolling up his sleeves. His forearms were covered in the blond hair. Mycroft noticed his thick pudgy wrists and forearms leading down to thick finger on remarkable small hands.

“I was expecting someone else.” Mycroft said honestly.

“I know. And he sends his regards.” Culverton smiled. “I never guessed that the great Mycroft Holmes would have an illegitimate brother. Imagine the scandal.”

“We aren’t Victorian, Mister Smith. I sincerely doubt anyone would care now.” But Mycroft knew that was wrong. As modern as England was, there were still certain things that Royals and politicians were not supposed to do. Drugs, sex and illegitimacy were amongst them.

Culverton laughed softly at Mycroft’s comment. “I certainly wouldn’t care but Jim is still very touchy about the situation. So touchy he has been seeking to avenge himself.”

“And I am the focal point of his vengeance.” Mycroft’s eyes opened wider and his voice seemed at little bit stronger.

Culverton didn’t noticed. His eyes were fixed on Mycroft’s mouth. The small curve to the man’s lips and the light sweat that covered Mycroft’s upper lip.

“Did you murder my mother?” Mycroft tried to not glare at the man.

“No, that was Jim, himself. He really enjoyed that. He really never got over her throwing him out. He told her as much as he throttled her.”

“Why was Elizabeth murdered?” Mycroft asked coldly.

“Elizabeth? Oh yes, Lady Smallwood.” Culverton smiled again. Mycroft hated hearing her name from his lips. “She was just a means to an end.”

“To hurt me? Was my association with her the reason for her death?”

“You can imagine Jim’s surprise when he learned you had a heart. He was shocked. Then he learned that you were allowing Lady Smallwood access to that mythical heart. Well Jim couldn’t allow that, could he? I have to tell you, I really did enjoy killing her. She had been so arrogant. So patronizing in her attitude to me. As if her posh education and good breeding made her better than me.”

“No, I believe she felt it was her greater intellect and stronger moral character that made her feel superior to you. I find that to be the case between the two of us.” Mycroft said.

Culverton Smith’s face darkened as his skin flushed red with anger. He squeezed his fists together and took a menacing step closer to the bed.

“You should be very careful about what you say next Mister Holmes. I could make this easy for you or difficult.”

Mycroft’s hand flopped down on to the bedding. His fingers just brushing over the fabric of his umbrella.

“I assure you, simply conversing with you is tiresome. Hurry up with whatever you wish to do so I can get back to sleep.”

Culverton Smith sneered as he reached up and placed his hand around the back of Mycroft’s head. With his other hand he carefully covered both Mycroft’s mouth and nose. Mycroft’s eyes flew wide and as he tried to shake the man off. He reached up with his left hand and grabbed Smith’s wrist and tried to pull it from his face, but Smith’s grip was stronger than Mycroft realized.

“Jim wanted you to commit suicide, you know. He wanted you to be completely and totally disgraced. Your death will be reported as a complication of your drug overdose.” Smith said. His voice taking on an edge of excitement.

The fingers of Mycroft’s right hand pushed into the folds of the umbrella until he could feel the cold metal of the tiny gun.

“And just so you know. Your brother, Sherlock, won’t be forgotten either. Jim has a plan for him too. I believe he is planning on having him sent away to work the rest of his miserable life in a brothel. Isn’t that a nice thought to have as you are dying?”

Mycroft brought the miniature automatic up and pointed it at Culverton Smith. The tiny handgun almost looked like a toy. The engraved nickel plated barrel was less than three inches long. The pearl grips were surrounded by Mycroft’s palms. It was a gun designed to be carried in a woman’s evening bag. The accuracy of the miniature gun was poor, but it was still lethal at close range.

Culverton Smith’s eyes flew open and stared down at the silver gun. He pulled back as if it was a snake.

“It that really?” Smith asked.

The report of the gun was snap. A light pop, but still audible outside the hospital room.

~^+^~

“You better tell me the truth if you ever want to see the outside of a prison again.” Greg Lestrade threatened.

It sounded like a balloon popping but anyone familiar with guns knew what it was. Both men turned quickly towards the sound. John only hesitated for a moment before he took off running. He shoved the constable out of the way and rushed down the hallway towards Mycroft’s room. The policeman stationed outside the door was trying to open it. The door was locked and the man trying to force the knob to turn.

Using his elbow, John broke the glass front of a case holding a fire extinguisher. He grabbed the red tank and slammed the bottom of the extinguisher onto the door handle, snapping it off. Greg and the other police officer shoved their shoulders into the door once the lock had been broken. The remaining metal snapped the door crashed open into the hospital room.

“He’s crazy! He shot me!” The small man shouted as the police and the soldier rushed in.

Mycroft Holmes was sitting up in his bed. In his hand he held a small chrome barreled gun. John recognized it as a 25 caliber ‘Baby Browning’. An antique.

Standing next to the bed was Culverton Smith. He was grasping his left arm. Blood was staining the sleeve of the white shirt.

“He shot me!” Smith repeated.

“What are you doing in here?” Greg Lestrade shouted at the man.

Culverton seemed confused by the question. He glanced around the room at the other men. “I . . . I . . . I heard him call out. I came in here to help him.”

“I didn’t let anyone in here, sir.” The constable told Greg Lestrade.

“He wasn’t in here when we left.” John added.

“I . . . I . . .” Culverton looked back and forth between the various men.

“Arrest him.” Greg said as he waved his hand towards Culverton.

“Wait!? I’m the victim here!” Culverton protested.

“Oh, please, Mister Smith.” Mycroft said. He swept the barrel of small gun around the room. “You tried to murder me.”

Lestrade growled and stepped forward. He carefully removed the gun from Mycroft’s hand. “I thought you were in coma.”

“I was temporarily incapacitated but I am more than competent now.” Mycroft said as he gave the gun up.

“I don’t know what he is talking about.” Smith sputtered out.

“You came in here and told me you were going to murder me.”

“You are deluded. It has to be the drugs.” Smith turned to Lestrade. “I don’t know where your guard was, but I heard him calling out. I came in here to help him and when he woke up, he shot me. For no reason what so ever, he shot me.”

“Detective Inspector, trust me when I tell you that Culverton Smith just confessed to murdering Lady Elizabeth Smallwood and being present when my mother was murdered by Jim Moriarty.” Mycroft said as he sat up straighter in the bed.

“Who? I don’t know what he is talking about.” Smith babbled. “And honestly, are you going to believe a man just coming out of a drug overdose. Can you really trust his judgement?”

“I was simply acting.” Mycroft said.

“Acting? Is that some new hobby of yours?” Lestrade snapped back at the man.

“Actually, no. I had a role in _‘The Importance of Being Earnest’_. My Lady Bracknell was well received.”

“Pardon!?” Smith asked dumbfounded.

John stepped forward. “There are three other murders that can probably be linked to Smith.”

“What?” Lestrade asked completely confused by what was going on.

“Sherlock identified two other murders other than Lady Smallwood who died here. He said whoever killed her, probably killed Victor Trevor too.” John said as he stare apprehensively at Smith.

“You can’t honestly believe this can you?” Smith argued. “They’re making me sound like some kind of serial killer.”

“Well, if you don’t believe us, Detective Inspector, why don’t you listen to Culverton Smith’s own admission?”

Mycroft grabbed his umbrella and twisted the handle. The wooden crook turned and slipped off the frame of the umbrella. Inside was a small recording device. Mycroft held the two pieces out to Lestrade. Smith looked on as the police officer took the recorder. The small man’s expression fell.

“Take him into custody. Make sure his solicitor knows where he is. I don’t want this to get fouled up over a technicality.” Lestrade glared at the short pudgy man. Smith’s shoulders slumped as the constable took him into custody.

A constable stepped into the room and leaned in close to Lestrade. He whispered something into the detective’s ear. Lestrate’s warm brown eyes flashed up at John. The detective inspector and the constable rushed from the room.

Mycroft glanced at John. “Where is Sherlock?”

“My friend took him home.” John said.

“Please make sure he is safe.” Mycroft’s voice took on a pleading tone. “I’m afraid this is not over yet.”


	30. Brother Meets Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets Jim.

Greg Lestrade didn’t consider himself a sentimental man. He couldn’t be. He was a policeman. He had seen the worst in people on a routine basis. For his own sanity, he needed to be pragmatic. And his relationship with Sherlock Holmes and the omega’s family was proof of that. Though, in his private moments - moment where he was honest with himself - he would admit to wanting more.

Lestrade remembered seeing Sherlock when he was seventeen and in rehab. The young omega acted so arrogant and belligerent. He acted that way to cover up how scared he was. Lestrade remembered sitting with Sherlock in a darkened room because the omega said the lights hurt his eyes. But Sherlock was hiding. Afraid of everyone. Lestrade watched as Sherlock’s hands shook as he held a cigarette, slowly lifting it to his chapped lips before taking a drag. The red glow of the lit end reflected in Sherlock’s silver eyes. For a moment, Greg Lestrade forgot the age difference. He had forgotten the difference in their backgrounds. He had forgotten he was already married to an unfaithful wife. He wanted to wrap the frightened omega in his arms and keep him safe. He wanted to protect Sherlock, not only from the world and his family but from Sherlock, himself.

For a brief moment, he imagined a life with Sherlock. Coming home to the beautiful and enigmatic omega. The two of them sharing evenings where Greg would describe his day and Sherlock would hang on every word from him. The pale and lanky omega wrapping himself around Greg’s body in bed. Then later, pups with dark curls and silver eyes calling Greg father. It was Greg’s fantasy. To be bonded to Sherlock.

But that couldn’t be. Greg Lestrade couldn’t claim the unusual omega for his own. He had to be a realist. Sherlock would never be the type of omega who would crave the life of domesticity. He would consider pups a burden and not a joy. Greg knew that Sherlock wanted adventure. He wanted excitement and challenge. Sherlock would tire of him quickly. Greg could never be the alpha that Sherlock needed or wanted. The alpha for Sherlock had to be as addicted to danger as much as the omega.

In spite of the fact he would never be Sherlock’s alpha, Greg had done everything he could to try and keep the young man safe. He had tried to keep tabs on him and make sure Sherlock hadn’t fallen back into bad habits. He had scared more than one threat away from Sherlock over the years. Threats that Sherlock never recognized. The people who tried to pull Sherlock back onto the streets. Old drug dealers and new pimps. Ones who wanted Sherlock for their stables and others who just wanted him for themselves. Lestrade had placed himself between those who fed off the runaways and the homeless, and Sherlock. He had been more of a protector to the omega than his own pack had been. He wondered if it was time to reconsider his role in Sherlock’s life.

His attention turned to the silent alpha standing beside him. The alpha who hadn’t been frightened away from Sherlock. An alpha who seemed to crave adventure and danger as much as Sherlock did. He watched as John Watson came into the morgue silently. The man’s eyes were careful at scanning the room for dangers. Considering and assessing every threat. Watson was stoic as he approached the gurney. He radiated anger and lethality, but also control.

John Watson’s friend was dead. They looked down at James Sholto’s body on the gurney. A single bullet hole was just under his right eye. Just above the patch of scarred skin on his cheek. It was a kill shot. James never felt a thing. He was dead before he hit the ground.

“Any idea who would have done this?” Lestrade asked John as the two men stood side by side.

“No.” John knew who was to blame and he promised himself he was going make their deaths very painful.

“A rival gang?” Lestrade asked.

John remained quiet.

“Someone who want to punish you or your gang?” Lestrade questioned.

“No one would be after us. No one would come after me. I keep telling you . . . it was Sherlock. They wanted Sherlock and killed James to get him.” John growled. In the back of John’s mind the name came quickly. The man who had been in the shadows as John and his men robbed.

“And who would want to kidnap Sherlock?” Lestrade asked again. Lestrade could list numerous people but none were willing to murder to get him.

“I told you, someone named Moriarty! Mycroft knows who it is! Probably that sick fuck, Smith, knows too!”

John felt a twist in his stomach. He fisted his hand and flexed the muscles in his arms. His anger blooming brightly not only towards the person who had shot James, but also towards the police officer who was wasting his time, questioning him.

“Mycroft Holmes is under arrest right now with Culverton Smith. I can’t prove anything about you at this moment, but that is the only reason you aren’t in custody too. If you don’t start cooperating, you’ll find yourself in a cell beside them.”

“Look, help me find Sherlock, then I’ll confess to anything you want . . . the armored car robbery, Victor Trevor’s murder . . . the great fucking train robbery! Whatever you want . . . just help me get Sherlock back!” John shouted.

Lestrade frowned and looked away from John’s angry expression. He looked back at the dead body of the other soldier and then at the other draped bodies on gurneys in the morgue. Two dead police officers who were found next to Sholto’s body.

It was the first time an officer had ever died on his team. There had been two or three gun fights in his career and once he was almost run over by a bank robber in a car, but this was the first time he had lost anyone on his team. Two young constables. Both alphas and one with a new bondmate.

“Are you sure Moriarty has Sherlock?” Lestrade asked.

“I’m positive.”

“Then let’s go ask Smith where he is.”

John hoped he had time to get to Sherlock before Smith told Lestrade where to look.

~^+^~

James and Sherlock had left John upstairs with Detective Inspector Lestrade. As planned, they rode the lift down one floor then got off. Using the back hallways and the stairs, they slipped passed the police and were leaving through the loading docks. That is when they were stopped by the blond stranger with the watery grey eyes.

James was surprised to see the man there. At first he thought it was a police officer but James had met the man on several occasions before. He wondered briefly why the blond was there.

Sherlock knew from the moment he saw the man that the stranger was not a police officer. He knew it by the way the man walked and the clothes he was wearing. The man was military trained and not a civil servant.

“Is something up? Were you looking for us?” James said in a relaxed tone.

James was relaxed and lowered his guard. The blond stranger didn’t answer James. The Browning automatic came out quickly. The man aimed it efficiently and pulled the trigger. The report was loud. The sound continued to ring in Sherlock’s ears as James’ body slummed to the ground. Sherlock twisted to look at James’ dead body. Blood was already staining the concrete.

Two real police constables came running down the driveway to the loading docks. The blond stranger grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and yanked him sideways. He pulled the omega towards a waiting car as the police constables shouted at them to stop. The stranger shoved Sherlock into the backseat and raised the gun again. Sherlock ducked as the man fired. Two more rounds in quick succession. The two officers were dead on the ground as the car drove passed them.

~^+^~

Sherlock expected to be taken to the typical dank warehouse or musty basement somewhere. He didn’t expect to be in a plush office in a high-rise with a beautiful view of the Gherkin. He would have been comfortable in the cushioned chair except his hands were tied tightly behind his back. His shoulders were beginning to cramp and his hands felt like they were swelling.

“Seb, please . . . I think we can be gracious hosts.”

The blond stranger with grey eyes pulled out a knife and cut Sherlock’s bonds. Sherlock held the groan at bay as he rolled his shoulders. He brought his hands forward and rubbed at the red marks encircling his wrists.

Sherlock looked carefully at the man sitting in front of him. He was shorter than Sherlock but had similar coloring. Dark hair and pale skin. The shape of their heads were also similar. But their eyes were very different. Where Sherlock had silver blue eye coloring and Mycroft pale blue, Jim Moriarty’s eyes were dark brown, almost black. A trait he must have inherited from his mother.

Jim Moriarty sat at his desk and was studying Sherlock in the same curious manner a small child would study a bug. Sherlock wasn’t sure that if at any moment, whether Jim would either set him free or crush him.

“You know you really don’t look anything like your mother.” Jim said.

“No, we appear to take after our father.” Sherlock said casually.

Jim smiled. “So you acknowledge we are brothers?”

“It would be foolish of me not to. It is obvious we are related.”

“You know Mycroft and your mother insisted we were not.” Jim said. He watched Sherlock carefully as he mentioned the man’s dead mother again.

“I’m not surprised. The two of them refuse to believe I’m capable of independent thought regardless to the evidence to the contrary.”

“Even at the end, she refused to say I was related.”

“You mean when Culverton Smith choked the life out of an old defenseless woman?” For a brief moment, defiance flashed in Sherlock’s silvery-blue eyes. Jim wanted to pounce on it.

“He didn’t murder your mother. That was me. I so enjoyed wrapping my hands around her throat.”

Sherlock realized his mistake. He forced himself to show no emotion to Jim. He kept his face neutral and expressionless. Sherlock simply shrug his shoulders dismissing the comment.

It made Jim smile broader. Jim thought maybe this Holmes wouldn’t be boring.

“And what about our father . . . did he ever mention me?” Jim asked.

“I never really had in-depth conversations with him. He left me when I was three . . .”

“And returned when you were eight.” Jim injected quickly.

“Yes, and I was sent off to school at eleven, and he was dead by the time I was fifteen. He never felt the need to tell me his opinion regarding many things. But I was aware of how he felt about me.”

Jim raised his dark eyebrows. “Which was?”

“Vexed.”

Jim broke out laughing. He stood up and walked around his desk.

“You know, Seb here asked if he could keep you.” Jim said. He winked at Moran then turned back to Sherlock. “I have a different plan though.”

Sebastian Moran stepped closer to Sherlock. He placed his hand on Sherlock’s opposite shoulder.

“You told me he was mine. You promised.” Moran growled.

Jim looked up at him as the smile slipped from his face. Jim’s eyes flashed darkly at the soldier.

“Don’t presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Seb. I may decide to keep him for myself.”

Sherlock lifted his chin and spoke, “Awkward that . . . us being brothers and all.”

Jim turned and looked at Sherlock. “Oh, no. Not for that.”

“Like what then?” Sherlock asked.

“You might be useful within my organization. Who’s to say you might even be executive material.”

“Are you offering me a position within your criminal network?”

“Imagine how our dear brother, Mycroft will react to the news.” Jim’s dark eyes gleamed in delight.

“The two of us working together? Like the Krays?”

“Think of it!” Moriarty smiled broadly. “A new criminal dynasty taking over not only London and England, but maybe the world.”

“The two of us would easily take over the world. That goes without question.”

Moriarty laughed again. “I think you could be useful. I have my fingers in so many pies, I need someone who could help burden the load with me. Help organize little things like armored car robberies. We seem to share similar opinions about certain people.”

Sherlock pursed his lips as he feigned thinking. “Maybe, but there is a small problem.”

“What?”

“Which one of us do you think is the psychopath and which one is insane?” Sherlock asked coolly.

Jim’s expression rapidly changed. A dark shadow cross over his face and his eye hardened to flint. The back of his left hand crashed into the side of Sherlock’s face. The slap was loud.

Moran was shocked by the assault. For a hesitant moment he almost attacked Moriarty for hitting the omega.

“Don’t presume to insult me. I have ways of eliminating those who offend me.” Jim snapped.

“Like Mycroft?” Sherlock asked. He slowly rubbed his cheek.

“Yes. What do you think of my little game? It really turned out well didn’t it?” A malevolent glee came into Jim’s voice.

“You destroyed him politically and privately. Took away his power, destroyed his reputation, and murdered not only his mother but also his friend. Short of putting a bullet into him yourself, I can’t think of a more thorough ruin.”

Jim shifted again and now beamed with pride. His dark eyes twinkled and shined brightly. A slight rosiness came to his pale cheeks.

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

“It is a shame it was all for naught.” Sherlock replied casually.

Jim leaned forward as he placed his hands on the desk.

“What do you mean?”

“There is no evidence that he was involved in any leak of defense secrets. You killed Magnussen so he can’t testify against Mycroft. Mycroft has the missing thumb drive again. As for the murders, Culverton Smith is very likely admitting to committing every one of them. That’s the problem when you work with a narcissist. They claim all the credit for themselves. And you made the mistake in believing that Mycroft deals in sentiment. That he would be hurt emotionally by the deaths of our mother and Lady Smallwood. I assure you he won’t. Lady Smallwood was only an associate. There was nothing romantic there.” Sherlock lied. “And as for our mother. She was as cold and unfeeling to him as he was to her.”

Jim’s expression hardened and his eyes grew cold again.

“And what about you?” Jim grumbled deeply.

Sherlock shrugged again. “Remember, Mycroft willing agreed to my bonding with Magnussen. He couldn’t care less about my safety and wellbeing.”

“I could agree to that given who he has allowed to fuck you.” Jim said with an evil glint in his dark eyes.

Sherlock’s mind shifted immediately to John. He wondered what Jim meant by that comment.

“What about the surveillance teams?” Jim asked not allowing Sherlock time to concentrate on the previous comment.

“Just his way of controlling me. Keeping me under his thumb.” Sherlock said.

The phone on the desk rang and Jim marched over towards it.

“What!? And make it good or I’ll make you dead!”

Moran’s hand smooth down the reddening cheek of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock glanced up at the man and saw the possessiveness in the man’s grey eyes. It made Sherlock’s stomach twist again in revulsion.

Moriarty listened for a moment then slammed the receiver back down into its cradle. He glared at Sherlock then Seb.

“Police are on the way up! Get him out of here! The house!” Jim snapped.

Seb’s fingertips pressed hard into Sherlock’s shoulder. “You said he was mine.”

“I’ll decide later.” Moriarty said as he waved his hand dismissively.

Seb slipped his hand under Sherlock’s arm and lifted him off the chair. He pulled the omega close to him as they left the room. Jim was leaving by another door. Seb nodded at the men standing outside the office.

“There’s a ‘Blues and Twos’ out front.” One of the men said with a thick cockney accent.

“We need to evacuate.” Seb said as he pulled Sherlock along. “Neil, Terry with me. The rest of you know what to do. No guns. Start destroying files.”

Two men fell in behind Sherlock and Moran. They walked down a hall and around the corner leading to the stairs. For a moment, Sherlock thought Moran would pull him into the stairwell. The idea of racing down twenty stories seemed a bit daunting. Then Moran walked passed the door for the stairwell and up to the door for the freight lift. He pressed the button and glanced around.

At the end of the hall, they could hear shouts. Someone was announcing the arrival of the police. Gun fire echoed down the halls as Moran hissed. The door of the lift opened then all hell broke loose.


	31. Flash Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's rescue

Greg Lestrade hated operations like this. He wiped the sweat off his upper lip with his handkerchief hoping the two officers behind him didn’t notice. He glanced up and he watched the numbers increase as the lift rose. As the numbers increased so did his pulse rate. He could feel adrenaline begin to pump into his bloodstream. The weight of the Kevlar vest did nothing to relieve his anxiety. SCO19, the Metropolitan Police Firearms Unit, was waiting on the stairs. He had insisted he go in first into the offices. To be the diversion. But now he was questioning his decision. As soon as he was met with any antagonists, the team would come rushing in and take over. He was literally being used as bait.

Culverton Smith was more than happy to tell Lestrade everything about his crimes. During his interrogation, Smith had described how he had only been able to murder the occasional unrelated victim when Moriarty presented him with an opportunity. Moriarty had arranged over the past several months for numerous victims to be placed in Smith’s ‘Murder Room’. Families and business rivals more than pleases to pay the fee for a quiet and unsuspected murder. The frequency of Smith’s murders had increased. Smith was practically giddy with excitement that he was finally able to brag about his crimes. Lestrade felt sick as his listened to the man. He told the inspector Moriarty’s address only after he had relayed information about the thirteen people he had killed.

The number above the door of the lift read ‘20’ and then there was a soft bell. The sound made Lestrade’s stomach lurch. He wiped his hands with the handkerchief then shoved it into his pocket. The doors opened. Lestrade and the other two men stepped out and into a reception room. The sparse area was not what they were expecting. It was a single room with several doors leading out of it. A young woman sat behind a tall counter; her face hidden behind large round eyeglasses. Behind her, on the wall, were large gold letters spelling out a business name, Buonaparte Consultation. Lestrade glared at the name.

He stepped forward as the woman behind the counter looked up with a feign smile on her face. The smile slipped away when she noticed the visitors were the police.

“Can I . . . help you?” The woman asked as her eyes darted between the three men.

“James Moriarty, where is he?” Greg Lestrade said as he held out a warrant card.

“I’m sorry but there is no one by that name working here.” She said quickly.

Lestrade noticed her hand slipped from the desk top to under the counter. He imagined a button there to warn the criminals in the back. Lestrade grabbed for the microphone on his shoulder and pressed the activation button.

“GO, GO, GO!” Lestrade’s voice cracked as he spoke loudly into the mic.

There was a crashing sound followed by shouting and gun fire as the police began to raid the offices.

Three men rushed into the room from the door to the left. The third man into the room pulled out a gun and aimed it at Lestrade. Remembering Moran’s orders, the first man shouted, “NO!” He tried to reach for the weapon but his companion fired the gun.

Lestrade felt the punch to his chest and then the force of the air being ripped from his lungs. He fell backwards hitting the floor hard. His head bounced on the carpet. His eyes grew wide even as everything was turning grey. Greg wondered where John Watson had disappeared to. He would like to be there right now.

~^+^~

Sherlock heard the sound of gunfire as the doors of the freight lift opened. Moran growled. “Bastard!”

He shoved Sherlock behind himself. Sherlock only got a fleeting glance at three men on the lift. They were dressed in black combat gear. The tinted visors on their black helmets was pulled down, covering their faces. Guns already pointing at Sherlock, Moran and his men.

Sherlock had only a moment, but he recognized the shorter man in front. His build and stance. It had to be John. His John. Sherlock noticed the subtle movement from the man standing next to John. The small plastic canister rolled out of the man’s hand and across the floor to rest at Moran’s feet.

Moran shouted something unrecognizable as he reached for his gun. The other two men didn’t even know what was happening until the explosion.

The ‘Flash Bang’ was loud – concussive loud. The bright flash blinded the four men, and the non-lethal explosion disoriented everyone in standing in the hall. Sherlock was thrown backwards away from Moran. Moran was pushed into a wall. His head hit the wall, adding to his concussion. The other two men were knocked off their feet. Their hands wrapped tightly around their ears as the roar of the ‘bang’ persisted.

Sherlock lay on the floor, blinking his eyes trying to get them to focus. His head felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool. He couldn’t hear anything except for the high pitch ringing of damaged eardrums. He felt hands on his arms, lifting him up off the ground. He tried to fight the men off. He struggled. He felt himself being dragged into the lift. His feet trailing behind him as he couldn’t get them underneath himself.

‘ _John threw a grenade at me! He tried to kill me!’_ Sherlock’s addled brain tried to process. _‘John threw a grenade at me . . . but I’m not dead? Why am I not dead? It was close enough to kill everyone. Why am I not dead?’_

Sherlock heard shouting coming to him from a distance. He opened his eyes and forced them to focus. Soldiers’ hands were pulling Sherlock up off the floor. He was being dragged into the lift. Unable to stand on his own legs, his feet trailed behind him. The ringing from the ‘flash-bang’ grenade still blocking out other sounds.

The door of the lift opened. Sherlock was rushed out of the building and into a van that had just pulled up. Sherlock was deposited on the floor of the van. The vehicle was moving before the back door was even closed. The tires squealing on the tarmac.

“SHERLOCK, CAN YOU HEAR ME!?” John shouted.

Sherlock’s mind cleared and the ringing in his ears lessened. He felt hands on either side of his face as he lay on the floor of the van. His head was cradled in John’s lap. He blinked his eyes and looked up into John’s face. John’s helmet rolled across the floor as the van turned sharply.

“Was that really necessary?” Sherlock asked.

John smiled. The men around him laughed softly. Sherlock glanced around and saw Sean McMillan and Hanson. Eddy was driving the van.

“I didn’t think they would willing give you back to me.” John said with a small amount of anxiety bleeding through his words.

“You could have warned me.” Sherlock offered. “I’m not an idiot.”

John smiled and stroked his fingers up Sherlock’s cheek.

“No, you’re not an idiot but you are a lot of trouble.”

“How did you know Moran was going to bring me that way?” Sherlock asked as he struggled to sit up.

“Standard procedure.”

Sherlock blinked in confusion. “Were you working with the police?”

“Not exactly. We found out where Moriarty was holding you.” John lied. “We showed up just as Lestrade was arriving. Lestrade went through the front door with SCO19. There’s a small group of unarmed police at the loading dock. They are presently tied up behind the bins. Where is Moriarty?” John asked.

“I don’t know. He left by a different route.”

“Any chance Lestrade was able to arrest him?”

“I don’t think Jim Moriarty will be arrested unless he wants to be. He is rather intelligent and able to avoid the police.” Sherlock said.

“Well, he won’t be able to avoid them for much longer. They are on the lookout for him now.”

“Maybe . . . but I doubt this is far from over.” Sherlock said and leaned into John’s body.


	32. Crossing the Final Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg Lestrade learns something disturbing.

Greg Lestrade stepped off the lift and into the squad room of his division. His chest ached and his temples were pounding with a growing headache. As soon as the first officer saw him, the police officer stood and started to applaud Greg’s entrance. More police officers stood and joined in with the clapping. There were cheers and shouts of _‘Good job’_ and _‘Way to show them’._

“Bugg’r off,” Greg grumbled as he waved away the congratulation. He wandered between the desks walking to his private office.

The shouts and cheers were not helping his headache but the operation had been somewhat of a success. Ten of Moriarty’s men had been arrested. Three were in hospital. None of the police had been injured. They had seized evidence of criminal activity ranging from extortion to robbery to murder. There was enough information to keep the courts busy for years. The bad news was Moriarty got away and Sherlock wasn’t there.

Just as Greg stepped up to the closed door of this office, his second in command stepped up to him, blocking his way. She held out his old coffee cup, full of bitter smelling brown liquid.

“What is it?” Greg asked as he looked at the expression of Jenny Donavan’s face.

The alpha couldn’t hide her emotions at all. Her thin lips were pulled down tight and a scowl disfigured her attractive face.

“The ‘Freak’s’ brother is waiting for you.” She whispered harshly.

Greg cupped his forehead in his palm and sighed. “Any sign of Sherlock yet? Any idea where he could be?”

Greg was regretting his decision to allow John Watson to leave custody while they were raiding Moriarty’s building. Both he and Sherlock Holmes had disappeared. And Lestrade didn’t believe that was a coincidence.

“No, and I say good riddance to the bastard. We don’t need ‘im.”

Greg glanced up at the woman. Her animosity towards Sherlock knew no ends. “Alright, I’ll handle this.”

He took the coffee cup from her hand and took a hesitant swig. The coffee was strong and bitter, but at least it was hot.

Greg pushed passed Donavan and opened the door to his office. Just as Donavan had warned him, Greg found Mycroft Holmes sitting stiffly in the office. The man’s back was ramrod straight as if he was afraid if he lean against anything, he would soil his expensive suit.

Greg sighed again and walked into his office. He dropped the files he was carrying loudly on his desk as he set his stained coffee cup down on the Formica top.

“Mister Holmes, you shouldn’t be here without your solicitor.” Lestrade said. He unbutton his jacket and sat down. A sharp stab in Greg’s chest made the detective wince.

“I am glad to see the Military grade bullet proof vest was proficient in protecting your life. I regret that it wasn’t sufficient enough to prevent injury, though.” Mycroft said noticing the man’s discomfort.

“It’s not that bad.” Greg lied.

Mycroft didn’t argue with him. He dismissed Lestrade’s comment as one would about someone commenting on the weather.

“Has my brother been located?” Mycroft asked.

“I’m afraid we don’t know the whereabouts of Sherlock.”

“No.” Mycroft looked as uncomfortable as Greg felt. “The other one.”

“The other one? Oh, yeah . . . Moriarty, no he hasn’t. A helicopter was seen leaving the building at the time of the raid. It was found outside of Cheltenham. The pilot was dead. Single gunshot wound.”

“How unfortunate.” Mycroft said. He glanced away from Lestrade and seemed to be thinking about something else other than the dead man.

“You don’t need to worry about Dimmit and the incident at the Langham.” Lestrade interrupted Mycroft’s thoughts. “We are still investigating, but I sincerely doubt you will be implicated any further. Smith confessed to murdering Victor Trevor. Said it he was ordered by Moriarty to do so. There were other members of Moriarty’s crew there too. They are the ones who . . . um . . . were the ones who . . .”

“I believe the term is sexually assaulted by multiple perpetrators.” Mycroft’s expression was unreadable.

“Yeah.” Greg wished the man would ‘bugger off’. “After some paperwork and an apology from a certain detective, you won’t be bothered any further by the Police or the Crown Prosecution Service.”

“Thank you, Gregory, but an apology won’t be necessary.”

Lestrade raised his eyebrows questioningly. He wondered when they started being on a first name basis. Although, only his maiden aunt called him Gregory. Aunt Ivy and his adulterous wife when she was angry with him.

“It’s Greg, not Gregory.” He said darkly.

“Shame. I prefer Gregory.” Mycroft replied seemingly unaware of Lestrade’s growing ire.

Confused by Mycroft’s off handed comment, Lestrade cleared his throat. “That should at least get you your job back.”

“It honestly didn’t matter if Culverton Smith confessed to murdering Victor or not. My position within the government hasn’t been adversely affected.” Another lie.

“It hasn’t?”

“No. I did have to call in a few favors and remind certain Members of Parliament the significance of my, although minor, assistance to the county.” Mycroft gave a knowing smile if not fleeting. “Very little will have changed in regards to my position within her Majesty’s government.” Mycroft continued with the half-truth. Once he had regained his control of the government, he would quickly repay those who had turned against him in the past few days with swift and vicious retribution.

“And what about Sherlock?” Greg asked as he brain started to catch up to the situation.

“What about him?” Mycroft asked unconcerned.

“We know he was at Moriarty’s before we showed up. Moriarty’s men said he was brought there from the hospital. But he is missing now and you don’t seem to be too worried about it.”

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders, indifferently. “I am aware of Sherlock’s general location, if not his exact whereabouts.”

“Let me guess . . . there is a certain ex-Army doctor with him right now.”

“Yes, I believe you are correct. It seems that Sherlock has grown attached to Doctor Watson. And I suspect the next time we see the two of them, they will be bonded.”

Lestrade leaned back in his chair and gave a wince as the pain in his ribs pinched him again. Mycroft caught the shift in Lestrade’s expression and knew the pain was not only physical.

“You shouldn’t be disappointed, Gregory. Sherlock would have been an inappropriate mate for you.” Mycroft said.

Greg blinked several times. He had never told anyone he had fantasized about the young omega. No one – not once.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. Sherlock and I were just friends . . . actually colleagues.”

“Just colleagues?” Mycroft smiled knowingly. “I am aware of your preference for omegas, although you did chose to marry a beta of dubious fidelity.”

Greg gritted his teeth. “I believe you are treading in to restricted territory, Mister Holmes.”

Mycroft continued to smile as he shrugged off Greg’s warning. “I never felt compelled to bond with an omega myself. I am aware of their supposed charms but they never held that much for me.”

“You prefer betas?” Greg asked.

“Actually alphas.”

Greg suddenly felt wrong-footed. “Oh, I didn’t know you were . . .”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t be a foreign concept to you either.” Mycroft continued to smile.

Greg suddenly remember back to his days in Uni when he had experimented with several things, including homosexuality. His dalliances had been enjoyable but not permanent.

“I think my private life should remain personal, Mister Holmes.”

Mycroft slowly nodded his head. “And association with Sherlock would never be personal, let alone private. No, you are fortunate to have not entered into a relationship with the omega. He is too . . .”

“Demanding?” Greg asked raising a questioning eyebrow.

“No, I’m demanding, he is needy.” Mycroft answered.

“Is there a difference?”

“Needy comes for doubt. Demanding comes from being right. Knowing what you want.”

“And you are always right? You think you know what you want?”

“Always.”

Greg stared at the man, wondering what Mycroft Holmes was up to. The pregnant silence in the room was broken by the sharp rap on the door. Before Greg could call the person in, Jenny Donavan opened the door and rushed in.

“Gov’, you need to see this.” She thrusted a paper at Greg.

He took it and quickly read it. Then he read through it again, more carefully. He instantly recognized the date and the address. The location and time of the armored car robbery. He also recognized one of the names listed, John Watson.

“Was this in the Moriarty files?” Greg asked without looking up.

“Yes.” Donavan said sharply.

Greg’s headache would be getting worse.

~^+^~

Sherlock woke up in a room lit with sunshine. Multiple windows on two sides of the room allowed the light of the sunrise to illuminate the room without the sun actually blinding the person in the bed. The bed was an old fashioned four-poster. Sherlock was positive it was a reproduction and not an authentic antique. The bedding was thick and white. Lace and eyelet everywhere. Chintz upholstery on overstuffed furniture. Doilies draped across the chairs. There was an ornate mantle over an open fireplace. Several porcelain figurines were lined up on the mantle, staring out at him in bed. The wallpaper was cream with small pink rose buds.

He could hear the rhythmic rumble of waves on the beach and the room carried the scent of sea air. The sky outside the windows was clear and bright blue. There was no haze from pollution or the sound of traffic. Sherlock sighed as he closed his eyes and snuggled down under the duvet. He deduced he was in a ‘B&B’ somewhere on the west coast.

Small snatches of the night before slipped back to him. He remember Moran and Moriarty. He remembered the police raid. He remembered the ‘flash bang’ grenade John had thrown.

“John.”

Sherlock opened his eyes again and reached across the sheets. The opposite side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cool to the touch.

Sherlock sat up and looked around the room. His clothes were still on the chair where he had tossed them the night before. His black wool coat hung on a hook by the door. John’s clothes were missing.

“JOHN!” Sherlock called out.

He threw the covers off himself. He rushed to the chair and grabbed his pants. Hopping on one foot he tried to quickly dress.

The door opened and John came in carrying a tray with coffee and scones. He watched for a moment as Sherlock hopped around trying to pull his pants up while also reaching for his trousers.

“Going somewhere?” John asked as he stood watching the other man.

Sherlock tripped hearing John’s voice and only just stopped himself from falling over. He stood up and looked dumbfounded as John stood nonchalant in the doorway, holding the tray.

“You’re here.” Sherlock answered.

“Yeah, and so are you, but the question is are you staying?”

“I woke up and you were gone.”

“Do you want me to go?” John wondered what Moriarty had told Sherlock about him. He wondered if he had missed his chance.

“No, never . . .”

John felt a weight lift. He still had time to make this right. He gave a soft smile. “I wanted to get you some breakfast. You’re too skinny. I can cut myself on you hipbones.”

“High metabolism. I thought you left me.”

There was something behind John’s eyes that Sherlock just couldn’t yet read. Some emotion that seemed to frighten both Sherlock as well as John.

“I don’t think that is possible, Sherlock.” John said sadly. He felt a crushing premonition of a future disaster.

He kicked the door closed as he stepped further into the room. He set the tray down on small table near the windows. The late winter wind buffeted the windows and chilled the room. Even though Sherlock was cold he stood in the middle of the room, naked, except for his pants wrapped around one thigh. One hand holding his trousers while the other held up his pants.

“Of course it’s possible. I’ve always had a high metabolism. My mind is always working. Burning up any calories I take in.”

John gave a weak laugh and stepped closer to Sherlock. He fought the urge to take the young man in his grasp and ravage him again. John looked into Sherlock’s silver eyes and sighed.

“No, you idiot. I don’t think I could leave you. Ever. Not unless you told me to go.” He cupped Sherlock’s cheek. “I’ve found myself addicted to you.”

“Why would I tell you to leave?” Sherlock asked confused as a child would be told that the world is not as they had imagined.

Guilt pushed into John’s mind. He had told Mycroft he would protect Sherlock. But how was he to know that Sherlock would be used by Moriarty against Mycroft? That his past crimes would prevent his future happiness. Sherlock knew John was a thief. He knew John was a criminal but did he know how much of a villain he really was?

Sherlock studied John’s expression but read the story behind John’s eyes wrong. He sighed dramatically and frowned. “It wasn’t your fault. Moran was waiting for us. James couldn’t stop him from taking me. You couldn’t have either.”

“I should have been there.” John captured Sherlock’s thread.

“If you had been there, then you would be dead too and no one would have rescued me.”

“I’m not a very good person, Sherlock. I break the law.” The words fell out of John’s mouth before he even knew he spoke them.

“So?”

John wished he could believe it wouldn’t matter to Sherlock. He wanted it to not matter so they could be together.

“I would have killed Moran if he had harmed you.” John said coolly.

“And I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

“Sherlock . . . you deserve better.”

“But I want you.”

Sherlock watched as John swallowed dryly. The alpha blinked. His sapphire blues eyes seemed to darken.

“You shouldn’t say such things to me. I find it hard to not . . . want you. In every possible way.”

“John, I thought we already talked about this. I don’t want someone else. I don’t want to be someone else. I can be myself with you. You can be yourself and not lie. We can be ourselves.”

John stretched his chin up as if he was preparing himself for a punch. “And if I want you to become my omega. My bondmate. Would you? Would you let me be your alpha?”

Sherlock smiled deviously. “Is there any doubt?”

“Sherlock?” John needed to hear the answer. He needed to know the truth. Only then could he believe he could tell Sherlock everything.

“Yes.”

~^+^~

The seagulls’ squawks seemed far away. The sound of waves rhythmically washing ashore was soothing.

John laid naked on the four-poster bed. His back against the headboard and Sherlock knelt between his thighs. The omega was making a careful examination of the alpha’s member. The long thick prick was filling as Sherlock used both is hands to stimulated it. The omega had never actually studied it before; something he found quite unusual since he seemed to observe everything else around him. He hadn’t realized the organ’s length and girth before. It was too thick for him to be able to wrap one hand around it properly. And too long for one hand to stroke it’s full length. Instead, he used his right hand to stroke the upper portion of John’s cock, occasionally rubbing over the gland and smearing the precum. While his left hand teased at John’s knot. Rhythmically squeezing it as John gasped; the alpha’s eyes closed and his head tipped back.

“Yeah, that works . . .” John exhaled. This body responding to the sensation of Sherlock’s long dexterous fingers alternating as they added pressure to their gentle grasp.

Suddenly, John felt the head of his cock enveloped into a hot wet mouth. His eyes flew open and he was rewarded with the sight of Sherlock going down on him. The omega’s red lips sliding down his length. The sensation of Sherlock’s tongue swirling around the sensitive head. John groaned and rocked his hips up, searching for more – more heat, more depth, more Sherlock.

John’s hand rushed to the dark curls. Combing through the soft strands as Sherlock greedily took John as deep as he could go. Sherlock using his hand to stroke the remaining portion of John’s cock that couldn’t fit into the omega’s mouth.

Sherlock rubbed his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of it, then swirled his tongue over the top. John’s hand in his hair tightened and pulled slightly.

“Sherlock . . . no . . . stop. I want . . .” John breathed.

A lurid pop and slurp could be heard over the sound of waves and seagulls. Sherlock leaned back on his heels and look slyly at John from underneath dark lashes.

“What do you want, alpha?” Sherlock asked with a deep rumbled to his voice.

John’s control shattered. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and pulled him into a demanding kiss. Twisting their bodies, he rolled them until he had Sherlock pinned underneath him. He lifted Sherlock’s legs up and out of the way. Slick coated Sherlock’s inner thighs. John licked. The sweet and spicy taste coated his tongue, intensifying his desire. Sherlock was ready for him. The omega was ripe and ready to be taken. John pushed forward, entering Sherlock as the omega gasped.

Sherlock always felt like John was going to split him in half. He focused on relaxing and allowing the alpha entry. The initial burn quickly faded to the sweet sensation of fullness and yearning. His mind slowed and focused down on this single moment. This one connection. Sherlock’s skin felt electrified. His body became in tune with John’s. It was almost instinctive how the two of them moved together. Knowing exactly how to please the other.

“ _Jawn_ . . . _mon fort brave alpha_.” Sherlock whispered. Sherlock’s mind slipping into French.

John’s own mind slipping into its primitive state. _Sherlock was his. Only his_. John’s strokes intensified. His hand buried itself in Sherlock’s hair. Twisting the man’s head to the side. Sherlock eagerly bent to the position John wanted him to get into. John leaned forward. His nose seeking out the source of Sherlock’s scent. His mouth sealing over the gland in Sherlock’s neck.

“Yes! Yes! I am yours!” Sherlock shouted as John’s knot pressed through the muscles and into the omega’s body. It swelled rapidly locking the two of them together.

John’s teeth closed over the scent gland and bit. The rush of blood and scent flooded into John’s mouth. Sherlock screamed as wave after wave crashed into him. John’s teeth pressed into the omega’s neck again. More blood and scent coated John’s tongue. His primitive mind screamed in ecstasy.

John didn’t care he hadn’t told Sherlock the truth. They were bonded, forever.


	33. Alpha Against Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran is looking for Sherlock and John.

Moran walked out of the garage. His ears still ringing from the sound of the man’s screams. Two other men walked out with their boss. Each giving Moran sideways glances. They had never seen the former soldier so vicious before. It was almost like he was relishing the torture.

They approached a waiting car. The driver had the back door opened for Moran as he approached.

“Did you get anything?” the driver asked the blond ex-soldier. He needed to know where he was going to take Moran next.

“A phone number and a name. Not an address.” Moran said.

He climbed into the passenger side of the car ignoring the open door. The driver looked at the lethal expression on Moran’s face. The driver swallowed the fear that forming inside him.

Moran knew who had attacked him the day before. He recognized the men who had robbed the armored car months earlier. Sean McMillan now lay on the floor of his garage. His body pocked marked with acid burns. Moran questioned him and when he didn’t answer quickly enough, Moran poured more acid onto him. _‘Idiot’_ the driver thought as he pulled the car out into traffic. Everyone should know not to double cross Moriarty and Moran.

~^+^~

Mycroft looked at final report on the raid of Moriarty’s offices and flat. Although there had been a wealth of information regarding his various enterprises, anything regarding his present whereabouts was missing. It was finally determined that his illegitimate brother had escape by way of a helicopter on the roof of the building. He had used a private lift that was installed after Moriarty took possession of the offices and was not on any of the building floorplans. Mycroft marveled at the intelligence of it. The perfect escape.

It also concerned him, that if his brother was that intelligent and apparently set out to destroy him, then the hostilities between them was far from over. Mycroft had been able to save his career but it had cost him more than he was telling anyone. He had lost a great deal of credibility with several important individuals. Also, he had suffered personally. Not only the loss of his mother but also his friend, Elizabeth. A person with whom he had considered involving deeper into his cloistered life. He paused to wonder what else Jim Moriarty had planned for him.

Jim had threatened Sherlock, but had not actually hurt him. Was John Watson’s involvement with Sherlock part of Moriarty’s plan? Was Watson placed in Sherlock’s life to manipulate his brother? Moriarty had teased Sherlock with the idea of joining him in his criminal endeavors. Was that why Watson was there – to convince Sherlock to join Jim Moriarty and himself.

Was that the next volley in this war between his illegitimate brother and himself? A fight over Sherlock? And what would Sherlock want to do? Before John Watson had entered Sherlock’s life, Mycroft was certain that Sherlock would balk at the idea. Would Sherlock eagerly go with the man he professed to love? Would he join Moriarty in his evil attack on their elder brother?

He pressed the button of his intercom. His assistant answered immediately.

“Yes, Mister Holmes?”

“I need the exact whereabouts of my brother, Sherlock, straightaway.”

“Sir, we lost track of both the younger Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson in Cardiff. We are looking for . . .”

“I realize you are looking. I need to know now. Get MI5 on it. No delays.”

Mycroft disconnected the intercom. He hoped it wasn’t too late to prevent his brother from bonding with John Watson.

~^+^~

It was very late, or very early, depending on your point of view. Sherlock and John had been bonded for over eighteen hours. Less than a day. John had refused to allow Sherlock to leave their rooms in the B&B. The two of them joining together over and over again throughout the course of the day. The owner of the B&B was happy to know that she was hosting newly bonded pair, eagerly made arrangements for food to be left outside the door for John to retrieve when they were hungry.

Sherlock was surprised at how easily he had accepted John’s protection and sheltering. The alpha had kept both of them in bed almost the entire time. Only allowing Sherlock to leave to relieve himself in the ensuite while he stood at the door like a sentry. It should have been overwhelming. Sherlock should have bristled at the hovering but he had never felt so wanted before. Never felt so desired before. It was more than sexual. It was more than physical. Sherlock had grown up fearing at any moment those he cared for would leave him. That they would find him lacking and walk away. Give up on him. But John made him feel he was special and he would always care. That Sherlock was valued as well as desired.

Sherlock’s head rested on John’s shoulder, listening to the soft thump of the soldier’s heart. He could see the slow rise and fall of the alpha’s chest as John slept comfortably beside him. Sherlock realized he had curved his body around John’s; wrapping his arm over John’s waist and tangling their legs. The soft light of the early dawn only barely reaching into the room. Sherlock spread his palm over John’s abdomen. He could feel the smooth skin and relaxed muscles underneath. The gentle rise of John’s breathing pressed into Sherlock’s hand. The confirmation of John still being alive with every lift. Sherlock recognized that his own existence relied on John’s presences now. That with each breath John took, Sherlock felt his own lungs fill.

_‘How long had it been?’_ he wondered. _‘How many days since he dropped into that skip beside John? What was it that had made him want to kiss John that first night? How many kisses had there been before John carried him to his bed the first time?_ ’

Sherlock smoothed his hand over John’s hip and pulled himself closer to the man. He had never felt so connected to another human being in his entire life. He had never wanted to feel connected. People would leave you. They would hurt you when they left. Sherlock didn’t want to be hurt – again. But just as Sherlock knew that to be true, he also knew that John wouldn’t hurt him. That John would always be there. Always share his life with him. That John wouldn’t put unreasonable restrictions on Sherlock. He wouldn’t demand he give up what he enjoyed doing. He wouldn’t prevent Sherlock from showing the world how intelligent he was. No, John would praise Sherlock for being different, for being unique.

Sherlock twisted and lightly kissed John’s shoulder. The musk of the alpha was strong. Sherlock dragged his nose along the slope of John’s shoulder, smelling the spicy scent. Sherlock’s mouth watered and he wanted to bath in John’s scent again.

There was a sudden and loud crash outside the room. Sherlock twisted and looked towards the door, but John was awake and moving. He leapt out of the bed and already had a gun in his hand. John’s eyes were wild and searching. He scanned the room for an unseen enemy. Sherlock realized John was not with him in England but somewhere back in the desert.

“John?” Sherlock whispered. “It was nothing. Just something falling downstairs.”

John blinked. He looked at the man on the bed for a brief moment before he recognized him.

“Sherlock?”

“It’s okay. We’re safe.” Sherlock reached out to John.

John took Sherlock’s hand and collapsed back down on the edge of the bed. He set his pistol down on the nightstand and bowed his head.

“I’m sorry . . .”

“Don’t be.” Sherlock sat up and wrapped himself around John’s back. “I would expect you to react that way if you were startled.”

Sherlock could feel the sweat on John’s body. It was cooling fast and the soldier was beginning to shake.

“The room’s freezing. Let me light the fire.” Sherlock said as he unfolded himself from the bed.

“Don’t . . .” John said but without any conviction to his voice.

Sherlock went over and knelt down in front of the fireplace. A fire had already been laid and all he needed to do was strike a match to the kindling. In seconds, the yellow glow lightened the room and heat was struggling to warm them.

Sherlock grabbed his trousers and slipped them on. Then he went over and helped John slip his worn jeans on. He knelt before the soldier and placed his palms on John’s thighs.

“Better?”

“Yea . . .” John said. “I’m sorry.”

“I already told you, you have nothing to apologize for. It was the war . . . you dreamt you were back in combat.”

“Yea . . . the day I was shot. I thought I was . . . I could have hurt you.” John whispered.

“No, you couldn’t.”

John lifted his head and looked at the man kneeling before him. _‘I could have hurt you.’_ The words bounced around inside John’s head. He knew when he told Sherlock the truth, he was going to hurt the man he loved. Sherlock could read something in John’s eyes. His face contorted into concern. John needed to redirect Sherlock’s train of thought.

“I’ve killed people before, Sherlock. I know I can do it again.”

“I realize that. You proved that to me when you shot Jefferson Hope to protect me. But trust me, John, when I tell you that you will never hurt me.”

The words stabbed at John.

“You can’t say that.”

“Yes, I can. Because I understand now.” Sherlock said.

“You understand what?”

“I understand that you would never intentionally or unintentionally hurt me. You can’t because you care.”

John’s hand came up and cupped Sherlock’s face. The omega leaned into the touch.

“Of course I care. I love you.”

John dragged his thumb over Sherlock’s dark eyebrow.

“And I know I love you. And we won’t hurt each other because we would rather hurt ourselves than each other.” Sherlock twisted and placed a kiss in the palm of John’s hand.

A woman’s scream shattered the moment between Sherlock and John. Two gun shots were loud and just outside in the hallway. John pushed Sherlock back as he stood and placed himself between the omega and door. Sherlock scrambled to his feet as the door slammed opened. Sebastian Moran stood in the open doorway. Behind him, the other guests were coming out of their rooms, shouting.

For a split second, the three men just stared at each other.

“Good job, Watson. Moriarty will be happy you kept him away from the police and his brother.” Moran said coldly.

Sherlock glanced at John, confused. His eyes flashed back at Moran. The tall blond soldier smiled.

“What, Watson didn’t tell you he worked for Jim?” sneered Moran.

“That’s a lie!” John shouted.

“Is it?” Moran jeered.

Moran’s eyes hungrily swept over Sherlock’s half naked body. Then his eyes settled on the red bite mark on Sherlock’s neck. The bond mark between Sherlock and the other alpha. Moran roared in anger. He lifted his gun and pointed it at John. Just as he fired his gun, Moran was bumped by a fleeing guest.

John aimed and fired but his gun was hit by the wild shot from Moran’s gun. The sights shifted a mere half inch before the bullet left the barrel of the gun. The projectile grazed across Moran’s cheek. John’s gun was hurled out of his grip. It skidded under the heavy furniture and out of reach.

Moran roared again in anger and pain. He fired again, but the gun clicked on an empty magazine. Moran heaved the gun at John. John ducked and the gun sailed through the window. The glass shattered and cold air rushed in.

Moran threw himself at John. The two alphas grappled for a moment, then John brought his knee up into Moran’s groin. The taller alpha screamed in pain, then threw a wild left hook, catching John in the side of the face. John’s head snapped violently to the left as stars glittered across his vision. John stumbled backwards.

Before Moran could close in on John, Sherlock ran forward placing himself between Moran and the stunned alpha. Sherlock clenched his fists, his right tucked under his chin and left slightly forward. Sherlock kept his elbows tight to his body in an attempt to protect his ribs. He jabbed his right fist forward and caught Moran on the chin.

Moran wasn’t expecting the blow and took a step back as his jaw ached from the punch. He could taste blood in his mouth. He raised his right hand and back handed Sherlock across his face. The omega flew sideways from the hit, crashing back on to the bed.

“YOU BITCH!” he roared. “I should have taken you the moment I had you in my possession, you little slut!”

“Never!” John shouted as he came back to the fight.

He brought his left fist up and under Moran’s chin, driving the man’s jaw up and into his skull. Moran grabbed at John’s shoulder and pulled him down with him. The two men rolled across the floor and next to the fireplace. Moran twisted and rolled them until John was underneath him. Moran reached for the fire-poker and raised it.

John’s eyes flew wide as he looked up into the pure hatred in Moran’s face. He saw the flash from the brass poker in Moran’s hand. John reached out and grabbed one of the smaller burning logs in the fireplace. He locked his teeth closed, holding in the scream as his hand burned on the hot embers. He slammed the wood into Moran’s shoulder, knocking him off of John’s body. Moran dropped the poker as he grabbed his scorched shoulder. The burning piece of wood rolled beside the bed.

Sherlock rolled off the bed and scrambled on his hands and knees towards the dresser. John’s gun had slid underneath the heavy wooden piece of furniture. Blood trickled down Sherlock’s face and his cheek burned from Moran’s slap. Sherlock laid down on the floor and looked under the dresser. He could barely make out the shape of the gun in darkness.

The smoldering fire quickly lit the bedding. Thick grey smoke began to fill the room. John and Moran were on their feet again. Blood smeared Moran’s face and John’s left hand ached from the burns. Again Moran tried to punch John, but the doctor/soldier deflected the wild swing of Moran’s fist with his elbow and forearm. John followed through with a solid jab to Moran’s ribs. John could feel the give and crunch of breaking bones.

Air rushed from Moran’s lungs. John could smell the sour scent of the alpha’s breath. John leaned back on his left foot and braced himself. He brought his right foot up and solidly kicked Moran in the abdomen. The man flew backwards and into the wall. His head hit the plaster hard. Moran slid down the wall, limp. His head lulled to the side as his eyes were half lidded.

John step back and realized the room was filling with smoke. The bed was engulfed in flames and the fire had crossed the floor and moved quickly out the door. John could hear sirens and shouts as he coughed.

“SHERLOCK!” John spun looking for the omega.

Sherlock was still on the floor trying to reach for the gun. John rushed over and pulled the man up to his feet.

“John! The gun!”

“Forget about it!”

John pushed Sherlock towards the broken window. Sherlock finally glanced around and realized their room was full of smoke and quickly filling with fire.

“We need to get out!” Sherlock shouted.

“I know!” John picked up a chair and threw it through the already broken glass.

“But the door!”

“Too late! We have to go this way!”

The fire was roaring. The sound was incredible. Sherlock’s eyes were weeping from the smoke and he was coughing. He felt dizzy. John twisted Sherlock and pushed his face out of the window and into the fresh cold night air.

“Out you go!”

John grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and then began to push the younger man out the window. The sole of Sherlock’s foot was cut on the broken glass still in the window frame, but the adrenaline rushing through Sherlock’s bloodstream stopped him from feeling it. Carefully, John guided Sherlock out of the room and dangled him from the first floor window. John leaned forward. The same glass that cut Sherlock was now slicing the side of John’s waist.

“John, wait!” Sherlock shouted as he realized John was going to drop him.

It was only a short drop. Sherlock was no more than twenty feet above the ground.

“Bend your knees and roll!” John shouted as he let go of Sherlock’s wrist.

Sherlock hit the ground as his legs folded underneath him. He didn’t roll but did have to struggle to get back up. He looked up at the first floor window. The glow from the fire was bright yellow behind John’s silhouetted form. Black smoke bellowed out of the window.

“John!? Jump!” Sherlock shouted.

John hesitated for a moment. He looked behind him as Moran slowly climbed to his feet.

“JOHN! JUMP!” Sherlock shouted again.

John looked back down on Sherlock. “I love you, Sherlock. I always will love you.”

John disappeared back into the smoke. The yellow glow grew and now smoke was coming out of several windows of the building.

Sherlock rushed around the front of the B&B. The fire brigade were already there. Hoses were spraying water on the building. Fire was licking out of every windows on the first floor. Flames were bursting through the roof. The noise was deafening. The roar of the fire, and creaking of wooden frames breaking. The shouts of the firemen and guests as well as the wail of the sirens.

Sherlock rushed towards the front steps of the building but two firemen pulled him back.

“MY MATE IS IN THERE! MY MATE! MY JOHN!” Sherlock shouted.

“It’s too late . . . it’s too late!” The fireman shouted back.

There was a loud deep groan and then a thundering boom. Suddenly everything seemed to disappear around Sherlock as he watched the first floor of the B&B collapse into the ground floor. Sherlock didn’t hear the screams of the people watching the fire. He didn’t hear the firemen being ordered to back up. He didn’t feel the blanket being placed over his shoulders. He didn’t smell the acrid smoke. Only one of his senses seemed to working. His sense of sight. And all he saw was the entire B&B engulfed in flames.


	34. After the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock after the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter but after I left you with such a horrendous cliff hanger, I thought you would like to know what happened to Sherlock.

The sunrise bled into the navy blue of the night sky. Blending the colors from indigo into violet into the deep reds as the sun crested the horizon. The wind coming off the sea pulled the smoke away from the fire. The plumes of black smoke disappeared into the retreating night sky.

There was a loud deep groan and then a thundering boom. The first floor of the B&B collapse into the ground floor. Sherlock didn’t hear the screams. He didn’t hear himself screaming. The firemen were ordered back. He didn’t feel the orange blanket being placed over his shoulders. He didn’t smell the acrid smoke. All he knew was the entire B&B engulfed in flames.

John – his John was inside the burning building.

Sherlock took a step forward. It was that simple. He would just join John. He would go to his alpha. Sherlock took another step forward, then another.

He felt hands on his shoulders pulling him backwards.

“NO . . . NO . . . NO . . !” Sherlock screamed as the firemen pulled him away from the fire.

Suddenly the front window of the building busted out as a chair was thrown through it. A body flung itself through the open window and rolled across the porch. Rolling away from the fire and out across the lawn.

John rolled up into a crouch on the grass. His clothes were smoking. His hair was singed. John’s face was blackened with soot. His right hand was blistered.

“John!” Sherlock gasped. “JOHN!”

Sherlock pulled himself out of the other men’s grasp. He rushed forward and fell to his knees in front of John. Slowly he raised his hands and ghosted them over John’s face. Afraid to touch him just in case John is a mirage. His voice caught in his throat as he is unable to speak. Tears pooled in his eyes and his vision blurred.

John collapsed down on his heels. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

Sherlock’s fingertips brush through John’s singed hair. It’s not as soft as he remembered it but it is real. It is solid. John is real. He is not a ghost.

“OH GOD! JOHN!”

Sherlock threw his arms around his mate. Together they pull each other tight to one another. Chest to hip to knees, they touched.

“We’re okay . . . We’re going to be alright.” John spoke into Sherlock’s curls as the omega openly wept. John couldn’t console him. He pulled Sherlock closer and into his lap.

Behind them the building continued to burn. The water from the hoses had turned the smoke from black to pale grey. The morning breezes still pulled it away from them as the rising sun finally reached their faces. The trail of tears down their soot smudged faces glistened in the sunlight. John held Sherlock’s face still and whispered into his mouth.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you.”

Their kiss tasted of wood ash and tears but neither of them cared.


	35. After the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John discuss John's previous employer.

John lay in the hospital bed, his right hand was bandaged. John was only wearing pajama bottoms. His tan chest was bare. The scar on his shoulder visible to everyone. Across his abdomen was a large white bandage covering the stitches and the wound from the broken glass.

Sherlock stood silently next to John. His eyes scanning every movement of the hospital staff. Watching intently as every burn and every cut was treated and bandaged. Ignoring the pain in his own foot.

“Mister Watson?” The nurse standing on the opposite side of the bed spoke.

“He’s a doctor, Dr. John Watson.” Sherlock said quickly. His voice sounding tinny to his own ears.

“No, I mean you.” The nurse looked exasperated. “The doctor told you to remain off that foot. If you keep trying to walk or stand you will tear your stitches and then it will never heal properly.”

Sherlock’s eyes scanned down the woman’s body then back up to her face.

“You are married to a man you do not love any more. You are having an affair with a co-worker . . .”

“Sherlock . . .” John said softly.

Sherlock glanced down at his mate. John’s face was stern, but his bright blue eyes were warm with affection. The fingers protruding from John’s bandaged hand lightly brushed against the back of Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock look back up at the nurse and saw the shocked expression on her face. Her mouth was open as if she was frozen in mid tirade.

Sherlock slammed his mouth shut with an audible snap. A sulk remained on his face though. He hated being stopped in mid-deduction, but he realized that alienating the nursing staff would only harm John and not benefit him in any way. 

When the last nurse left the two of them alone, John looked up at Sherlock and growled. “Com’ here.” 

Sherlock lowered the bed rail and slipped in beside John. The blond soldier opened his arms and let Sherlock settle into his shoulder. Sherlock curved his body around John’s.

“Your hand?” Sherlock had laid down but hadn’t relaxed enough to press his weight down on to John.

“It’ll be fine . . . just as long as you are with me.” John hummed as he dragged his nose through Sherlock’s curls.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could smell smoke in Sherlock’s hair, but also the sweet spicy scent of Sherlock. He squeezed the younger man closer to his body and sighed. The vice grip that had been around his chest was easing. He felt he could breathe again.

“John?” Sherlock said softly.

“What?” John hummed. His eyes still closed.

“Moran implied you worked for Moriarty.”

John couldn’t stop himself from tensing. Sherlock felt the shift in John’s body. He sat up and looked into John’s face.

“Tell me the truth. You know I will know if you are lying to me.” Sherlock said.

John didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to ruin everything they had started to build together. Destroy his future just as it seems possible.

“He didn’t send me after you.” John said hoping to mitigate the betrayal coming.

“So it is true. You were working for Moriarty this whole time.”

Sherlock slipped off the bed. The stabbing pain in his foot made Sherlock wince but he kept standing. John sat up and tried to reach for him but Sherlock stepped further away. The wound in John’s abdomen throbbed but he didn’t care.

“No . . . it wasn’t like that.” The words rushed out of John’s mouth.

“You were either in his employ or you were not.” Sherlock’s face was beginning to redden. His silver eyes were swimming with tears. “You knew what he was doing to me – to my family. He murdered my mother.”

“I never met the man! I still don’t know what he looks like!” John tried to stand. The IV tugged on his left arm as his legs tangled in the bedding.

“You never met the man who you were working for?” Sherlock took another step back. He swayed as his mind and body fought against each other to return to John.

“Please, just listen to me. We had nothing to do with you and your brother. I didn’t know it was the same Moriarty. I mean it’s not a common name but neither is it unusual. Not like Sherlock.” John’s feet were on the floor but he was still leaning against the bed. He felt dizzy and struggled to remain standing. His heart raced as he tried to focus on Sherlock’s face.

“You thought there could be two men named Jim Moriarty who were insane monsters?”

“No!” John shouted, instantly regretting it when he saw Sherlock tremble. “Please, just listen. I never met him. I only knew the last name, never the first. Everything went through James. Moriarty contacted James and not me. And he never acted crazy around James.”

“I have met him and I will assure you, he is quite insane.”

“Okay, let me come clean. James and I were doing small jobs. Here and there. One night, James comes to me and says he was contacted by a facilitator. Someone who could give us background information for jobs. Schedules, photos, routes. Also fences for the stolen goods. For his assistance, he took forty percent of the net. That was it. He gave us our biggest jobs, including the armored car robbery. I never saw him. He met with James. I never thought he was your half-brother or that he was going after Mycroft. It never occurred to me.”

“A facilitator? Nothing else? What about Moran?” Sherlock asked.

“I did know him. I met him when we gave him Moriarty’s share. I didn’t know his name. I was there as a body guard for James. I don’t think he even noticed me.”

“James knew who he was.” It was a statement instead of a question. “At the hospital – James knew who it was who stopped us on the loading docks. He knew Moran. Was he supposed to give me to Moran?”

“No.” John said firmly. “If James was working with Moran, would the bastard shoot James? No. It was just a coincidence.”

Sherlock’s eyes blazed in anger.

“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Sherlock said taking another step back.

John could feel the pressure around his heart building. He licked his lips and slowly stepped forward.

“Sherlock, I didn’t lie to you.”

“You didn’t tell me the truth, not all of it.”

“You’re right. I didn’t but I didn’t lie. I didn’t know Moriarty was your brother. It didn’t click with me. Maybe I’m not as smart as you. Maybe I was so fixated on you it didn’t occur to me. Whatever the reason, I screwed up. But I didn’t purposefully deceive you. I told you I loved you and I do. I told you I wanted us to bond and we are. I told you I wouldn’t leave you and I didn’t.”

Sherlock weaved on his feet. The image of the burning building collapsing came rushing back to Sherlock. The thought he had almost lost John punched through his anger. His mind slotted all the information together. Everything he knew and everything he believed. Everything that was John Watson.

John was a criminal, but he was also a soldier and a doctor. He broke the law, but he also saved lives, including Sherlock’s. He didn’t tell Sherlock about working with Moriarty, but didn’t John understand it was the same Moriarty who was trying to destroy the Holmes? Would he? No, there would be no reason for Jim to tell him, unless Jim was using John to get to Sherlock. And if he was using John, then John wouldn’t have killed Moran. He wouldn’t have rescued Sherlock from the other alpha.

John was what John seemed.

John stood still in the hospital room. His un-bandaged hand was stretched out beckoning Sherlock, to come closer. Sherlock glanced down at the hand then back up at John’s blue eyes. The affection and openness of them. It filled Sherlock with a warm feeling that pushed every other thought and fear away.

Sherlock took a step forward. His fingertips slipped over John’s. Their fingers intertwined and John closed his hand over Sherlock’s. He pulled his omega towards himself. Wrapping his injured arm around Sherlock’s waist.

“Believe me, darling. I wasn’t involved with Moriarty’s plan to hurt you or your brother.” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear as the omega laid his head down on John’s shoulder.

Sherlock nuzzled his face into John’s neck.

The knock on the door was unwelcome.

Neither one acknowledged the intrusion. The door suddenly swung open and Greg Lestrade was standing in the door way. Two uniformed police officers were behind the detective.

Greg stared at the two men as they held each other. For a brief moment, Greg’s face flushed red then back as he regained his control.

“John Hamish Watson, I’m arresting you in connection to the murder of Victor Trevor.” Greg said firmly. “Step away from him, Sherlock. For you own good.”


	36. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft try to separate Sherlock and John.

John’s un-bandaged wrist was cuffed to the bedrail. He glowered at it as he yanked on it once. A police officer stood as sentry at the door of John’s hospital room, but the man was unnecessary because Detective Greg Lestrade was standing in the room, glaring at both John and Sherlock.

“You’re being an idiot.” Sherlock snapped. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

“What is plain as my nose is the fact that this man was working for Moriarty.” Greg pointed at John while he growled back at the omega. “You’re the idiot for bonding with him.”

“I told you, I didn’t know the man.” John interjected in the argument.

“That’s not what his records say.” Greg glared back at John. He waved several files he was holding.

“I want to see these records.” Sherlock insisted.

“No way, not now. You are too close to him. You can’t be trusted.” Greg said firmly.

“Again – idiotic! You have risen to an even greater level of stupid!” Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration. His eyes flashed angrily as his face reddened.

“Look, you’re bondmate is under arrest . . .”

“For murder! What are you thinking, Lestrade?! Murder? Honestly?!” Sherlock barked back.

“He was at the hotel when Trevor was murdered. He didn’t have an invitation to the Gala but he was admitted to it by the guards. And the bank card that was used to pay for his room leads back to one of Moriarty’s shell companies.” Greg raised a finger for each point he was making.

“I was there for something else. I bribed the guard to let me in. I was using the Gala as a cover to get into the ballroom.” John said.

“Why?” Greg asked.

“For something else.” John said glancing over at Sherlock.

“For something else? Like raping and murdering Victor Trevor?” Greg’s eyes narrowed onto John’s.

The blond soldier grimaced and yanked on the handcuffs holding him down on the bed.

“I wasn’t involved in that! That is something I would never do!” John growled. “I have never laid eyes on Trevor.”

“That’s true.” Sherlock said. “Victor was never there when John visited.”

Greg glanced back at Sherlock. “So what. He was still there at Moriarty’s behest. If it wasn’t to help torture that omega, what was he there for? Why did Moriarty put him in that room?”

“Obviously to seduce my omega brother.”

The three men turned to see Mycroft Holmes standing in the open doorway. He was dressed in his immaculate grey three piece suit, and red tie. He was resting his weight on his ever present umbrella as he gave a placid insincere smile to Sherlock.

“That’s a lie.” Sherlock glared back at his brother.

“There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that the two of you were engaged in a . . . sexual rendezvous at the Langham. The real question was why was Doctor Watson there in the first place? I believe it was to seduce you and convince you to bond with him.” Mycroft said coolly. He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. “No reason to lie about it, Doctor Watson. You were told by James Moriarty to sleep with my brother and trick him into working against me.”

John rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. “You poncy idiot! I never spoke to Moriarty. I didn’t work with him!”

“That’s not what the evidence says.” Greg held up a stack of file folders. “These are copies of ledgers from Moriarty’s flat and office. Your name is mentioned. He listed you as someone working for him.”

John’s anger was blazing brightly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Holding it for a moment before slowly letting it escape. When he spoke, his voice was much quieter and more of a threat than an explanation.

“One more time. I never met the man. I didn’t know him. I was at the Langham for my own reasons. They had nothing to do with Moriarty, Victor Trevor or even the Holmes. I saw Sherlock there at the Gala being manhandled by some bastard of an alpha. I intervened and pulled Sherlock away from the man. We ended up in my hotel room later. I wasn’t told to seduce Sherlock. We bonded of our own freewill.”

Sherlock smiled smugly at his brother. Mycroft didn’t appear amused by either Sherlock’s expression or John’s explanation.

“Bondings are not irrevocable. Laws have changed. If they were entered into under duress or false pretenses. Or one of the participants was mentally or emotionally compromised . . .” Mycroft expounded.

“What part of freewill is unclear to you, brother?” Sherlock snapped.

“I can easily make a case that Sherlock was not competent at the time of bonding and that John Watson was lying in regards to his reasons for pursuing a bond with my brother. An annulment can be arranged.” Mycroft addressed Greg, ignoring the other two men in the room.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Sherlock shouted.

John yanked on the handcuffs and tried to pull himself out of the bed. His teeth were bared and all he wanted to do was wrap his hands around Mycroft’s neck. He could feel his grip tighten around the man’s throat.

For a brief moment, Greg forgot that John was restrained. He jumped back expecting the enraged alpha to attack. The room was thick with pheromones and the tension was tangible.

“Look, Mister Holmes,” Greg started. He needed to defuse the situation quickly. “John Watson is my prisoner right now. It would be best if you took Sherlock home with you.”

_“You’re not taking Sherlock from me!”_ John shouted at the same time Sherlock shouted. _“I refuse to leave!”_

Sherlock rushed to John’s bedside and grabbed John’s restrained hand.

“And get your brother-in-law a good solicitor. He’s going to need it.” Greg said calmly looking at the pair.

Light flickered behind John’s eyes. Sherlock paused before ranting about the idiocy of the idea.

“I need a solicitor, but Sherlock is to stay with me.” John growled.

“He can visit you, but you are under arrest. You can’t have your omega beside you twenty-four seven. Are you expecting him to go to Belmarsh with you?” Greg asked.

A low rumbling growl came out of John again. He knew it was unusual for them to allow Sherlock to remain with him now in hospital. But the idea of being separated from his omega for any time at all was overwhelming.

“Could a solicitor arrange for me to be out on bail until we convince you I wasn’t involved?”

“My personal solicitor is one of the best in the country. I would be more than willing to arrange for him to review John’s case with the stipulation . . .” Mycroft hesitated.

“I refuse to annul my bonding.” Sherlock declared.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I was going to say, I would be more than willing to arrange for him to review John’s case with the stipulation Sherlock accompany me home to my townhouse. That he remains with me there until this situation is finalized.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. “What is wrong with 221 Baker Street?”

“Moriarty is still out there. He is looking for the opportunity to kidnap you again. There is no security at Baker Street. You would be safer at my residence.” Mycroft spoke as if he was speaking to a dim witted child.

“You are up to something.”

“Is it so difficult for you to believe that I would care about your safety? Also, I feel that once you are out of the direct influence of this . . .” He glanced distastefully at John. John simple glared at the man. “. . . alpha, that you will realize your folly and accept my assistance.”

“Never.” Sherlock said coldly.

“If you are so certain of your bond then you won’t be swayed by anything I would have to say.”

“None what so ever.” Sherlock pulled his shoulders back triumphing.

“Then there is nothing to be afraid of in accompanying me home.”

Sherlock turned at looked at John. The blond soldier reached up with his bandaged hand and gently touched Sherlock’s face.

“Sherlock, he is right. You can’t go back to Baker Street. It won’t be safe and the police won’t let you stay here. I need to know you are safe. I need you protected.”

“John, we can protect each other.”

“Not in here. And not if this idiot takes me to jail. I can’t be sure you are safe.”

“You will come for me as soon as you are released?” John heard the uncertainty in Sherlock’s voice. Emotional pain flickered in Sherlock’s changeable eyes.

The thought that Sherlock doubted John’s conviction towards him was heartbreaking. John pulled Sherlock closer.

“Nothing will stop me. And when I get out of here, we will never be apart again.” John said quietly.

“You’ll get bored of me.” Sherlock whispered.

“Never.”

“But . . .”

“No one can change anything. We love each other.” John said. Sherlock nodded his head in agreement.

“Nothing will change that.” Sherlock whispered as he leaned closer and kissed John’s lips.

Mycroft rolled his eyes again and cleared his throat loudly. “So you will be coming with me?”

Sherlock stood up and glared at his brother. “I want you to call your solicitor first, then I will go home with you. But don’t imagine for one moment I won’t be on my guard for any type of kidnapping or coercion on your part. If you even think about it, I will return here immediately.”

Mycroft rocked back and forth on his heels, pouting. “I wouldn’t even consider the possibility.”

“Liar.” John glowered at the man.

Mycroft’s face twisted up in frustration. Sherlock kissed John again, then stepped around the bed and turned to Greg.

“And if you berate my alpha, I’ll never assist you again.”

Greg wanted to growl and dispute the omega but he knew he needed Sherlock more than not.

Mycroft tipped his chin up in an affect of superiority. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother and sighed.

“You haven’t won, Mycroft. You won’t ever win against John and I.” Sherlock shrugged his coat on and twisted his scarf around his neck. “Remember what I said. One hint of you trying to convince me to leave John and I will burn your house down with you in it.”

The two Holmes walked out of the hospital room, Sherlock leading the way and ignoring his older brother.

“He was joking, right?” John asked.

“I don’t think so. He got angry at one on my forensic techs and set the man’s car on fire.” Greg said as he watched the two Holmes leave.

John leaned heavily back into his pillows and closed his eyes. He could imagine Sherlock doing something outlandish in a fit of anger.

Greg turned back and studied John’s face. With the soldier’s eyes closed and his face finally relaxed, Greg could see the years and dangers John had been through. Wrinkles with tan lines radiated out from the eyelids. There were small scars across his forehead and on one cheek. Where his hair was singed back, first degree burns reddened the tan skin near his ear. John’s lips were chapped and grey. Greg regretted having to question the man, but if John was a threat to Sherlock, he needed to be stopped. More importantly, it was his job.

Greg dropped the files onto John’s lap. The movement startled John’s eyes opened with alarm.

“Okay, why were you at the Langham? What were you and Moriarty planning?”

“I told you I didn’t know the man.”

Greg pulled sheets of paper out of the file folder. He held it where John could read it.

“Do you recognize this? It’s the bill from the Langham. Your signature and a bank card.”

John took the papers, removing the paperclip holding them together. He quickly scanned the various sheets.

“Okay, yeah. My signature. You knew I was there. I’ve said I was there.”

“And the bank card belonged to one of Moriarty’s shell companies. How did you get it? Did he give it to you?” Greg glared at John.

John thinned his lips and stared at the papers, unable to look Greg in the eyes.

“It wasn’t what you think.” John said lowly.

“What I’m thinking is that you were sent there to either seduce Sherlock or murder Victor.” Greg could see that something was shifting inside John. As if the younger alpha was fighting against his conscious.

The accusation burned John’s insides.

“He didn’t send me . . .” John started to shout, then glanced away and spoke softer. “I wasn’t there because of Sherlock or Victor.”

“But Moriarty sent you.” Greg pressed.

“Yes.” John relented. “It was a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“There was going to be a diamond exhibition the following month. James and I were checking on the security at the hotel and specifically the ball room. We were going to rob it.”

Greg tipped his body back and stood up straight. He thought maybe he would finally get a straight answer out of John.

“And Moriarty?”

“I didn’t know who he was. James dealt with him. He supplied us with information. Then he helped up fence anything we stole.” John said.

“Like? Tell me some of your jobs so I can see if you are telling me the truth.”

John twisted and looked up into Greg’s face. “I can’t be arrested for telling you I’m a thief unless you know exactly what I stole. Even if my name is listed in his records, unless it is in connection with a specific crime, you can’t arrest me.”

“Make it easy on yourself, John.” Greg said.

“No, you want me to make it easy on you.” John said. He shoved the papers he was holding back at Greg. “If you want to arrest me and keep me from Sherlock, then prove I actually broke the law. Saying I’m a crook won’t convict me. And if you think you can convince Sherlock to leave me with hearsay, well, you have no idea how much we care about each other. It’s more than just a physical bond.”

“You told me you were going to rob the diamond exhibition.”

“Yes, I told you we were thinking about it, but we never did it. And you can’t be arrested yet for what you are thinking about.” John smiled.

Greg frowned. He gathered the files and papers together. “I may not get a confession from you, but I know where to look now. I’ll make sure you are arrested and convicted. Sherlock will be rushing to annul the bonding.”

“Never.” John growled.

Greg hesitated as he glanced at the calm and composed alpha sitting in the bed. John look more lethal than he had ever before. The good natured doctor was gone and the intelligent and determined soldier remained.

Greg pulled himself back from the bed. “Think about what kind of future Sherlock will have if you are convicted and sent to prison. What it will be like for him, separated from you . . . even for heats. Is that the future you would want for him.”

“Sherlock and I will be spending our future together. And not you, or Mycroft or Moriarty is going to change that.”

“We’ll see about that.” Greg said as he made sure he didn’t rush from the hospital room.

John watched the man leave. He waited and listened to make sure he was alone. That there would be no more interruptions for the evenings. After several minutes, he slowly opened the fingers of his injured hand. The paperclip the still there, snagged in the gauze wrappings.


	37. The Final Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation between Moriarty and Sherlock.

Mycroft’s assistant, Anthea, was waiting for them in the car. Mycroft and Sherlock walked out of the hospital side-by-side, ignoring each other. The woman gave them a cursory nod as they got into the backseat of the limo. Her attention returning quickly to her phone as she rapidly texted someone else.

The ride to Mycroft Holmes’ townhouse was silent and oppressive. Neither man spoke while Mycroft’s assistant’s attention was fixed on the Blackberry. The clacking of her manicured nails on the keys accentuated the silence of the other occupants. When the car pulled up in front of the townhouse, Sherlock leapt from the car even before the car stopped moving.

“Sherlock, for safety’s sake, you need to wait until the guard opens the door.” Mycroft admonished his younger brother.

“I sincerely doubt Jim would try anything in the open where your trained monkeys would see him coming.” Sherlock said as he marched passed the waiting guards by the garden gate. The security men, dressed in conservative dark suits and sunglasses, glanced up and down the street, while ignoring the petulant omega.

Mycroft rushed passed the two men, noting he hadn’t seen them before. But Anthea acknowledged them briefly, before following her boss into his house. The woman’s simple acceptance of the two men put Mycroft at ease. Mycroft had his hands full with Sherlock and couldn’t be bothered with instructing new security personnel.

“It is important that we present a united front, Sherlock. Moriarty is a very dangerous man. We can’t allow him to divide us. You must know this.”

Sherlock stood in the foyer of Mycroft’s home. The younger Holmes was studying the Thomas Gainsborough on the wall. It was to be an oil painting of a distant ancestor. The subject had the same dark wavy curls of Sherlock and the sharp expression of Mycroft. But the individual’s eyes were dark, almost black, like Jim Moriarty’s. Sherlock had seen the painting countless times, but it was only now that he noticed the similarities in it to the three brothers. Inwardly, Sherlock sighed as he acknowledged his failure to notice before. He felt himself stupid for missing something so obvious.

“I know a great many things, Mycroft. And while I will agree with you that Moriarty is dangerous, I refuse to agree that you are correct in that he is too evil for only one of us to handle. He is only just a man.” Sherlock said as he slowly tugged the scarf from his neck. His eyes still locked on the face in the painting.

“Sherlock, he is a villain. The antithesis of everything the Holmes stand for.”

Sherlock turned and stared at his brother. One sculpted eyebrow artfully rose up into Sherlock’s fringe.

“The antithesis of what the Holmes stand for? What exactly is it that you stand for, Mycroft? Would that be self-infatuation or simply butting into my life?”

“I am only doing what is best for you, Sherlock. You know I worry about you constantly.”

“You rarely worry and never do what is best for me. John Watson . . . he is what is best for me.” Sherlock said with certainty.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You can’t be so drunk on pheromones to not see the situation for what it is.”

“And what would that be? Please enlighten me in your omnipotent way.”

“Jim Moriarty wants to destroy us. He wants to tear us down. He is using every way possible to do so. Murder, extortion, betrayal and sex. He means to divide us, so he can conquer us.”

Sherlock turned away from his brother and casually walked into the sitting room. Mycroft followed his brother, watching as Sherlock slowly circled the room. Mycroft removed his coat and tossed it towards Anthea. The woman, despite appearing to be oblivious to her boss, caught it immediately. She folded the coat over her arm as she walked away.

“You make our lives sounds like a Shakespearian tragedy. If you are King Lear, does that make me the fool?”

Mycroft sneered at his brother. “At least you didn’t imagine yourself as Cordelia. But ‘fool’ would be appropriate, given your behavior.”

“The fool is the wisest man in the play, but no one will give him credit for his intelligence. No one realizes he is the one they should all be listening to.” Sherlock said smugly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair near the lit fireplace. He crossed his long legs and glared patronizingly at his brother.

Sherlock continued to circle the room. His senses told him something was wrong. Something was off. He carefully parted the closed curtains and gazed out the window. The streetlights were on now but no one seemed to be about. The street was empty. Not even pedestrians were about. The hairs rose on the back of Sherlock’s neck.

“Sherlock, you are failing to see the seriousness of the situation. Jim tricked you into bonding with John Watson so that he could drive a wedge between us. Jim and John are the villains in the tragedy, not me.”

Sherlock spun on his heels and glared at Mycroft for a moment. He was about to say something when the words froze in his throat. Adrenaline surged through his body. It was the same sensation he felt when he knew he was about to see John. Instead of reprimanding his brother, Sherlock flounced into the opposite chair. His lips thin as he narrowed his sharp eyes at Mycroft.

“The character of villain has more to do with perspective, dear brother. I’m sure that in this scenario, Jim would easily see you as the villain and not himself. You are, after all, the one who prevented him from having a normal childhood. From having a family to belong too. As it stands, you are far more villainous than Jim. And as for John, he’s innocent.”

“He’s a crook. A thief. And he seduced you for the purpose . . .”

“He is a doctor and a soldier, who is addicted to excitement. And we love each other. There was no subterfuge.” Sherlock interrupted his brother. “Where is a match? I promised to burn your house down if you tried to convince me to leave John.”

“He is a serial seducer!”

“You forgot murderer.” The Irish voice came from the open doorway.

The two Holmes turned to see Jim Moriarty standing in the doorway. Behind the man was Anthea, still tapping away on her Blackberry, apparently unsurprised by the man’s presences.

Mycroft uncrossed his legs and sat forward. Sherlock remained still but his eyes swept quickly over the new arrival. Jim was dressed immaculately. He seemed unconcerned. This worried Sherlock.

“Surprise!” Jim sang as he waved his arms wide. “Did you miss me?”

Sherlock wanted to roll his eyes but couldn’t remove them from the man’s face.

“Not really.” Sherlock said quietly.

“Poor Mycroft has been scouring all over the countryside for me and here I sat waiting for the two of you to return home.” Jim said as he wandered further into the room.

Anthea followed him in and closed the doors behind her. She leaned back against the doors, still typing away.

“The new guards.” Mycroft leaned back into his chair.

“Yes, they are my men.” Jim said as he examined the books on Mycroft’s shelves. “And before you ask . . . our darling Anthea has been working for me the whole time.”

Mycroft’s glance flitted between Jim and Anthea, then stayed on the woman. He looked her over carefully. Mycroft’s mind quickly sped over his knowledge of the woman. _Intelligent, graduate of Trinity College, orphan. Worked for him for the last four years. No husband, no boyfriends, no romantic attachments. Impeccable recommendations._

“You passed all the background checks.” Mycroft said quietly as he thought.

“Yes, she did. Some of my best forgeries. Did you like the one from the former PM?” Jim giggled in amusement.

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes. “Orphan. The two of you were at the same orphanage in Dublin.”

“No, actually. Wrong again, brother dear.” Jim said as he pulled a rare first edition of a Dickens from the shelf. He thumb through the yellowed pages. Pausing on one page, he held the page close to eyes. Suddenly, he licked the paper then frowned. He tossed the book into the fire. “Yuck. It was genuine. Very expensive?”

“Quite.” Mycroft said very softly.

Jim turned his attention back to other two men. “Sherlock, how do you put up with his stupidity?”

“It is a cross I bear.” Sherlock said almost deadpan.

Mycroft’s eyes flicked over at his younger brother for just a moment. He could see Sherlock was deliberating in his mind. Sherlock was planning something.

“We met after we escaped the clutches of the nuns. Runaways living on the streets. She became very adept at appearing non-threating, just before she drove the knife through one’s heart. We’ve worked together almost as long as you’ve tried to ruin my life. You have no idea how long I have planned my little revenge against you, Mycroft. It took years to get her into your sphere of power. You thought you had found the perfect assistant. What you didn’t know was I had trained her to be just that. What surprised me was how quickly you yielded everything over to her.”

“The reservation of the suite at the Langham? It really did come from my office.” Mycroft realized how foolish he had been to trust the woman completely.

“Oh, yes. She made sure we had a lovely place to start our little game. She also had access to correspondence between you and Lady Smallwood. It was quite easy for her to forge the woman’s signature and send you a note to meet Elizabeth in the suite. She knew your schedule, even before you did. Our little Anthea even knew about the memory stick with the missile defense plans on it and where the analyst would be for Moran to murder him. And she was in charge of your security teams. Both for yourself and for your family.” Jim moved over and was now studying a landscape painting. His index finger tapping lightly on his lips as he stared at the painting in feigned interest.

“So when you told Moran to meet you at the ‘house’, you actually meant this house. Mycroft’s house?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, but unfortunately he won’t be joining us will he?” Jim finally turned and looked at the other two men. His face was placid but his eyes were burning with hatred. “As I said. You forgot to mention that your darling little soldier was also a murderer.”

“It was self-defense. Moran was trying to kill both of us.” Sherlock defended John.

“Well that is debatable. Maybe Seb going to kill you, maybe he wasn’t. But the murder of Jeff Hope is a different matter. Shooting that poor cabbie through the window. How can you claim that was self-defense?!” Jim stepped closer.

That night months ago came rushing back to Sherlock. The school and the man in the taddy jumper offering Sherlock a choice. Sherlock holding the vial up to the light checking for any indication if what he held in his hand was deadly or not. The hesitation as he held the capsule towards his lips. The thrill and exhilaration that pumped through his body. The sound of the gun shot and watching Hope fall limp to the floor.

Mycroft looked over at Sherlock. He could read the entire episode in Sherlock’s expression.

“It was John. He stopped Hope from poisoning you.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed over at Mycroft then returned to Jim’s face.

“So this is your final plan? Killing us in Mycroft’s home?”

Jim turned away and started to circle the room again.

“Not exactly. My plan is to kill you, Sherlock and to have our dear brother blamed for it.”

Mycroft and Sherlock glanced quickly at each other. Mycroft again saw something determined in Sherlock’s eyes.

“You failed to frame Mycroft before. How do you expect to be successful this time?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh, very simply this time. A witness.” Jim said as he finally sat down on the couch. He spread his arms out over the back. A wild smile across his face. “Mycroft will be heard by several witnesses arguing with his younger brother about his chosen bondmate. Then our dear Anthea, fearing for the safety of the helpless omega, Sherlock, will rush in here but it will be too late. She will see Mycroft fire his gun. The bullet will of course strike you in the heart and kill you instantly. Shame really, a prolonged agonizing death would have been pleasurable to watch but we can’t have you telling anyone that our little murder scene is fake. So, where was I? Oh, yes . . . Anthea will rush in see Mycroft Holmes shoot and kill his brother. Mycroft Holmes will of course profess his innocence but no one will believe him and he will spend the rest of his days in prison. And if for some reason you escape a conviction, there will always be Dr. John Watson willing to hunt him down and gut him.”

“So Watson is working for you?” Mycroft said with a certain amount of vindication in his voice.

“Yes, he worked for me as distant contract labor.” Jim smiled broader. “If you are insinuating that I arranged for Sherlock and John to bond, the answer is no. That was not the plan I had for our darling brother. But I believe one must be flexible and when an opportunity presences itself, you need to manipulate it to your own benefit.”

Mycroft’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t arrange it?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, how did you put up living with this fool?”

“I left home when I was quite young.”

“I can see why.” Jim said. He stood up and pulled a small automatic from his pocket. He dragged his index finger over the sights on the barrel.

Mycroft instantly recognized it was his gun that he kept in his bedside table. His eyes flicked over at Sherlock.

“Sherlock, I . . . I was . . . please understand . . .” Mycroft babbled.

“Not now, Mycroft.” Sherlock growled.

The high pitch whine of a smoke alarm went off. Jim quickly glanced at Anthea as the woman finally looked up from her phone.

“It could be a short?” She said.

“Is it monitored?” Jim asked.

“Yes. The fire brigade will be dispatched almost immediately.” She quickly turned and opened the door. The smell of smoke wafted into the room. Anthea rushed out.

Jim turned back to Sherlock and Mycroft. “I guess I need to speed this along.”

“What about our deal?” Sherlock said.

Jim looked confused. “Our deal?”

“Yes, the one where we work together to take over England.” Sherlock stood. He moved slowly towards the window.

“If I remember correctly, you turned that offer down.” Jim laughed condescendingly.

“Not exactly.”

“It is not in your best interest to remind me of that conversation, Sherlock. I believe you called me insane.” Jim pointed the gun at the omega.

“Not exactly, but close enough. I could make a counter proposal.”

“Oh? And why would I be interested?” Jim lowered the gun.

“It could be very profitable.”

“It would have to be for me to forgo my plans of ruining your brother.”

“Our brother, and I didn’t say you should forgo ruining him. Please proceed in destroying him. I’m just suggesting we should combined our resources in doing so.”

“Sherlock!?” Mycroft snapped.

Jim smiled. “Combine our resources? What exactly are you going to be able to bring to the table?”

“Well, I could offer my superior intelligence, but you would be offend if I suggested that I possessed a greater mind that you. No, what I have you need. Physical support.”

There was a soft thud outside the closed door. The fire alarm stopped blaring.

“Good, now where was I?” Jim looked down at his hand and seemed surprised to find a gun there. “Oh yes, I was just about to shoot you.”

“You won’t listen to my offer?” Sherlock said turning towards Jim.

The murderer stood between Sherlock and the closed door. He didn’t see it open slowly. He didn’t notice the man entering the room.

“You offered physical support. I sincerely doubt you are more capable than the dozen or so thugs I already have in my employment.”

“But you don’t have a leader like Moran. Someone they will listen to. Someone they will fear.” Sherlock said. His eyes fixed on Jim and pointedly ignoring John standing behind him in stolen hospital scrubs.

“You would be my new Moran?” Jim laughed.

“No, you need a soldier . . . like John.”

“Watson? Never. He has a conscience and won’t kill on command. He would never be mindless killer I need.”

John lifted his left hand. The gun he took from Anthea was pointed directly at Moriarty.

“I wouldn’t bet on that.” John said calmly.

Moriarty spun around. His gun raised and firing as soon as he turned. John reacted instinctively. He fired almost simultaneously with Jim. The crack of the shots were deafening. Sherlock lunged to the side to get out of the way.

Jim’s shot went wild. Splintering the wood of the door to the right of John’s shoulder. John’s shot was accurate. The bullet penetrating Jim’s chest and into his heart. The surprised man glanced down as blood oozed out of the hole and spread rapidly across the white cotton shirt.

“Oh, how disappointing.” Jim gasped then collapsed on to the wool carpet. His legs folded neatly underneath him.

John stepped forward his gun still trained on the dead man on the floor. Sherlock stood up and rushed over to John.

“Did Lestrade let you go?!” Sherlock asked.

Carefully, John engaged the safety and slipped the gun in to the waistband of his scrubs.

“No. With time and thin piece of wire, I can pick any lock. Including handcuffs.” John turned and smiled at Sherlock.

Mycroft stood up and moved across the room as he stared down at the dead body of Jim Moriarty.

“You came here to stop Moriarty?” Mycroft asked.

“No, I came for Sherlock.” John said. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s torso and pulled the omega closer.

“Where are the guards? Where is Anthea?” Mycroft asked.

“I was able to get some help from some Army friends. Blackwood and Eddie are outside with the guards. The woman is tied up in the other room. I took this gun off of her.” John said.

“I knew it was you.” Sherlock said as he nuzzled John’s neck. “When I heard the alarm, I knew. Somehow you got free and made your way here. And you were going to save me.”

John cupped Sherlock’s face with his un-bandaged hand. “I told you, I would always come for you. We will always be together. We saved each other.”

“And we will never be separated again.” Sherlock said as he leaned his forehead against John’s.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for your lovely comments and suggestions. This has been a difficult story to finish. Some of you know why so I won't get into it. But I do appreciate the support and kindness that you all have shown me. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomed and enjoyed.


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